A Winter Tale
by lourdessanz
Summary: It's once again the Marriage Law Challenge, but this time Hermione gets the man she would at least think of - and actually: He wouldn't have thought of marrying her either. But sometimes strange things happens ... This history it's not mine. Written by: sycorax 1
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Desperate times

A winter storm roared over the Scottish highlands, gripping with icy hands the towers of the Hogwards school of Wizardry and Witchcraft, pushing against the ancient windows, letting them rattle and making the candles in the rooms behind flicker.

The tall, bony woman in front of the fireplace didn't like the storm. Although the room was almost too warm, with dozens of candles flickering in the air and the fire blazing heat, she seemed to shiver. Whenever one of the windows was struck by the wind, she wrapped her dark green robe closer against her frame and looked worriedly into the darkness behind the windows.

Her companion, a very old wizard with a white beard so long it reached to the belt of his gorgeous burgundy robe, tried to look relaxed with his long legs stretched to the fire. His head, with a long, silvern mane, was slightly tilted to the side and rested against the high back of his chair. Yet his long, elegant fingers, bony from age, betrayed his pose. They couldn't stop playing with the hem of his sleeve. They almost seemed to have a life of their own, uncontrolled by the wizard, doing a gracious dance with the fabric.

Once again the wind raised its voice to a roar. The purple bird who had dozed on the mantlepiece raised his head, flustered, made a melodious sound and sank with one, gliding movement down to the wizard's shoulder. It nipped tenderly on the old man's ear. He stopped playing with his sleeve and gently stroked the bird's head. "Yes, Fawkes, I know," he said quietly. "You worry about the boy. So do I and so does Minerva even though she'd rather swallow her tongue than admit it in front of him."

"The boy," Minerva McGonagall, transfiguration teacher, master of the house of Gryffindor and deputy headmistress, said a bit stiffly, "is a grown man. He's old enough to look after himself."

"Yes, yes," the old wizard answered thoughtfully. "Only he's confronted with evil and tortured by it on a regular basis ..." His voice became almost a whisper as he spoke.

"You don't have to remind me, Albus." Minerva rose up and went to the window. With the back to Albus Dumbledore she said: "He's late ..."

"Hagrid is at the gates, waiting for him. If he comes back injured, Hagrid will help him ..."

For a few moments, both wizard and witch were silent. Then she said, her voice soft and sad: "I'm afraid, Albus. One day he won't come back. One day this monster will kill him - slowly, painfully. We will lose him - his brilliant mind, his thirst for knowledge, his courage, his ..."

"One could think you will miss me," a deep voice broke in. "How Gryffindor of you, Minerva."

Minerva McGonagall turned around and looked to the dark shape, lingering tiredly against the open doorframe. "You're back, Severus," she said.

"Stating the obvious, Minerva? Considering the amount of sugar Albus fed you tonight, your brain should actually be working on overdrive by now." Hogwarts Potions Master Severus Snape staggered in the room, throwing a black cloak and a silver mask in one of the unoccupied chairs and sinking on an old leather sofa.

Albus Dumbledore raised his head. "Are you hurt, child?" he asked.

Snape shook his head. "No, this time I'm not. So a bit of your old Ogden's will be enough to give me the strength to pass on the information you have been longing for all evening."

The headmaster lowered his head and sighed. Silently he looked to a small cupboard behind his paper-laden desk and raised his index finger. The cupboard opened, a bottle and a tumbler sailed through the room and landed with a soft "pop" on a little table next to the sofa. "Please serve yourself, Severus," Dumbledore invited the younger wizard.

The potion master poured himself a generous amount of dark brown liquor, rotated the glass so that the liquid circled in it and watched out of tired eyes how the firewhiskey changed its colour to a deep red. Smoke filled the glass, as the potion master raised it. "To you, headmaster! To you and Voldemort - the masters of my fate!" He swallowed the liquor with one gulp.

"I'm going," broke Minerva the silence, walking to the door. "It's late, my husband should be back by now and you don't need me any ..."

"Stay, Minerva," the potion master said without looking to his elder colleague. "I promise: My story will be worth your while."

Minerva sighed and came back in the room, seating herself in the chair next to the fire place again.

The headmaster watched his potion master pour himself the second glass and drink it. "So bad, Severus?" he asked then, his old voice full of worry.

"Worse, Albus." The younger man crossed his arms over his chest. "Ministerial announcement No. 1126 - does this ring a bell?"

"The marriage law." Albus suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

"We discussed it all evening while you ..."

Minerva couldn't finish because Severus cut in, his voice cold: "... amused myself at one of this wonderful social gatherings Voldemort always so nicely invites his friends to." Venom dripped from every word he spoke, his pale face looked as if he'd feel sick.

"Today it really was a wonderful party with Voldemort doing the honours, Lucius Malfoy providing the best champagne from his vineyard, Narcissa Malfoy showing off the newest extravagances her husband's wealth bought her - like a ring with a diamond bigger than her son's brain and a obviously heavily drugged muggle boy who's her new play mate. Only the messieurs Goyle and Lesley spoilt the fun a bit - they were so eager in raping and butchering a muggle girl they didn't pay proper attention to Lucius' marble floor. You know, blood stains are so hard to remove, even with good potions.

"So Lucius wasn't pleased and because he's our dark lord's favourite lapdog at the moment, his grace himself crucio'd the two culprits a bit. Unfortunately Lesley couldn't stand it and cried in the end for his mummy, but who's Lesley to think that Lucius Malfoy would allow him to spoil all fun? He ended as dust - the Malfoy house elves certainly will have taken care of it by now. So it was a great occasion, really. But what the two of you will like best was the reason for this celebration ..."

he mhe marriage law?" Minerva asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "I fail to comprehend what You-know-who gets from it. He wants all muggleborn witches and wizards dead, so the purebloods are the only keepers of power again. He and his followers certainly can't support a law which forces purebloods to marry muggleborns. It's against every thing they stand for, isn't it?"

"Oh, Minerva!" sighed Severus Snape. "You're so disgustingly Gryffindor, you'll never understand how a Slytherin's mind works."

Albus obviously understood. "Who do they want to get for whom?" he asked shortly.

"Minerva won't like it ..." answered Snape. "It's an idea from Lucius - and Voldemort loves it. He probably even wants to become best man - or he'll act as the father of the bride, walking her down the aisle. Two flies killed with one stroke: One of the most talented witches of her generation out of the game and Harry Potter weakened because she can't do all his thinking anymore."

"So we're talking about Hermione Granger," stated Albus, his blue eyes behind the halfmoon spectacles sad and tired.

"Are we ever talking about anybody else other than a member of Gryffindor's golden trio?" replied Snape.

"Who is she to marry?" Minerva McGonagall sat stiff in her chair, her lips so pursed that they were hardly visible.

"Draco Malfoy." Snape looked provocatively at Minerva. "Don't you think, that they'll make a sweet couple? Your bushy haired Gryffindor know-it-all and Slytherin's pride, the most spoiled brat on this planet - with the exception of one Harry Potter, of course."

"That's outrageous!" Minerva jumped on her feet and started walking through the room like a nervous tiger in his cage. "Albus!" she cried. "You can't allow that!"

"Unfortunately Albus doesn't have a say in this matter," said Severus - and seemed almost amused by it. His black eyes glittered. "Albus is neither the girl's father nor her legal guardian. And even if he was, your idea of giving her a time turner during her 3rd year makes her 18 in only 10 days. Then she's of age and will have to marry Malfoy - unless she's able to present another pureblood suitor, asking for her lily white hand."

"Then we'll simply have to find a bridegroom for her!" Minerva said. "Albus, what do you think?"

"A lot," Albus Dumbledore simply answerstrostroking the phoenix on his shoulder thoughtfully.

"Harry Potter!" Minerva cried. "He shall marry Hermione. He's her best friend ..."

"... but he isn't a pureblood, if I may remind you." Severus sounded almost bored. "His mother was muggleborn."

"Besides he's in love with the Weasley girl," added Albus. "Only he doesn't know yet."

"Albus!" Severus got himself another firewhiskey. "You know, I hate it when you do that!"

"What, my child?" asked Albus, but his attention wasn't entirely with his potion master. He still stroked the bird on his shoulder, the tips of his fingers sorting the silken feathers.

"Calling me 'child' and claiming omniscience. It drives me crazy!" Severus complained.

Minerva didn't take the bait. Instead she said with a bright smile: "Weasley! That's it! Hermione can marry one of the Weasley boys."

"Good idea! Severus was all sarcasm. "There's only one little problem: Voldemort's wedding gift for the happy couple. Believe me, he won't send flowers. A Weasley's chance to enjoy the wedding night with your favourite pupil is probably even smaller than me winning Witch's Weekly most charming wizard award."

Minerva looked desperate. She wrung her hands and shook her head. "But, Severus - even you can't wish to stand by, doing nothing when Hermione Granger has to marry Draco Malfoy! This can't happen. It wouldn't only destroy the girl, but Harry too. He couldn't stand losing another person close to him. It would break him ..."

"Oh yes - it's once again all about the boy-who-lives-for-being-a-pain-in-my-arse." Severus turned his eyes. "If not for your Gryffindors, Minerva, we probably wouldn't fight this war, would we?" He looked to Albus. "But Minerva's rambling rubs off on me. On my way back from the meeting I found myself thinking about a suitor for Minerva's darling. It has to be a pureblood wizard who has enough power to stand against Voldemort. A boy won't do, Albus."

The old headmaster nodded, took his glasses up and started to rub the bridge of his crooked nose with two fingers.

Severus Snape watched him for a moment, then he rose from the sofa and stood next to his employer. "Albus?" he asked in an almost tender voice. Once again the elder man only nodded. The potion master became impatient and his voice sharp. "Does your famous omniscience fail you or are you playing coy? You know as well as I do that it is the only solution for the Granger girl's problem - especially when we consider that we don't have the luxury of time to find another candidate."

"You know, it's late and I'm tired - too tired to follow a Slytherin's cunning," said Minerva sharply. "May I therefore ask, abwhatwhat you're talking, Severus?"

"You may not." The younger wizard turned around and looked to her. "But you may ask about whom."

"Severus!" The old witch fumed. "Tell me!"

"Well, let's try it Gryffindor - slow and clear." The potion master sighed. "Your favourite student needs a husband, urgently. Yes?"

"Yes!" Minerva looked as if she'd like to jump in his face.

"Well then. The wizard in question must meet certain standards - like being unmarried, fertile, a pureblood, powerful and trustworthy enough you won't get nightmares every time you think of sweet Hermione sharing his bed. And if our wizard in question were a member of the order, it wouldn't hurt either. So - how many unmarried, fertile, pureblooded, powerful wizards do we have on our member's list?"

Minerva thought for a moment, then she answered: "Four."

"Five points for Gryffindor", the potion master praised her ironically. "And now, dear colleague, let's work out what Albus already knows - omniscient as he is. Your first candidate?"

"Remus Lupin!" Minerva shot out. "Yes - that's good. He's a good man, a gentle man, caring and sweet ..."

"Only he's a werewolf," Severus sank back on his sofa, stretching his long legs in black trousers.

"Oh, Severus, get over it!" Minerva grumbled. "Your old grudge against him ..."

"... doesn't matter in the moment." Severus was once again breaking in. "But it matters to the ministry. A werewolf doesn't count as pureblood. So Lupin's out. Your next candidate?"

"Alastor Moody." Minerva's eyes became small. "Poor Hermione."

"A paranoid former auror who doesn't trust his own shadow anymore. A very suitable husband for such a young girl, don't you think, Minerva? Only his ideas about a woman's place in society are a bit - how shall I say - old fashioned? Didn't he call your husband a weak coward once, because he allows you to teach?"

"Alastor is a chauvinist to the core," said Minerva with disgust. "He only wants women doing housework and having children."

"A nice prospect for Hermione, isn't it? With Alastor as a husband she wouldn't stand a chance of finishing her education. Yet she'd have a chance to have a baby every year ..."

"This can't be." Minerva said energetic. "So ..."

"... to our next candidate - No.3: Mundungus Fletcher," Severus said.

"Uck!" Minerva looked as if she'd smell something rotten. "He's a dirty old man!"

"Besides I doubt he's a powerful wizard," stated Severus.

"Oh!" Minerva jumped to her , he, her index finger pointing to Severus. "Albus! Don't you see what he's trying? He wants to get Hermione himself! Severus, you're a bastard! This sweet girl ..."

"I wouldn't want your head girl even if she'd give me head once a day," Severus said.

"ALBUS!" Minerva gripped her employer's sleeve. "Say something!"

Albus only sighed. Severus allowed himself a small grin. "Dear Minerva - always falling for a bait, always thinking the worse of a Slytherin. It must be nice to have such a simple vision of the world: Gryffindors are good, Slytherins are bad. Yet I will relieve you from your fears. Your sweet Hermione is not to suffer a fate worse then death: I don't suit the standards we set for the man, so I'm not the No.4 on our list."

"What does this mean - you don't suit the standards?" Minerva still was fuming. "You're unmarried, pureblooded, a member of the order and - for Merlin's sake - you aren't being modest now, are you? So you won't deny you're a powerful wizard."

"I certaiwillwill not." Severus said. "But you forgot one point, Minerva. The wizard in question must be fertile - the ministry runs tests for that. And this I am not. Being a potions master, I know what one can do with a little sample of semen. Like every body fluid it keeps strong magic and I really wouldn't want Voldemort or his female followers playing around with mine. Besides I was never very keen on keeping the noble line of the Snapes alive. I'm the last Snape and that's wit with me. So I took care of the problem, visited a nice and discreet muggle hospital and got myself a vasectomy a few months ago."

"Then who is the fourth man in our circle?" Minerva asked.

Severus sighed. For a moment the room fell silent, then Albus Dumbledore spoke, his voice calm, but flat. "It's me, Minerva. I'm the man Severus is talking about - a bachelor, pureblooded, strong enough to stand against Voldemort, a guarantee the girl can finish her education ..."

"But that's outrageous!" Minerva cried. "You're the headmaster, she's a student. It would be highly inappropriate ..."

"Oh, Minerva, for heaven's sake!" Severus became furious. "We're in the middle of a war, we're talking about a girl who's life is endangered. Doing something 'inappropriate' shall be the smallest of our sorrows. Besides it was done before - even under normal circumstances. Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black married a student ..."

"He was a Slytherin!" cried Minerva as if this would explain every form of inappropriate behaviour.

"Of course. And being a Slytherin made him automatically a lecherous old pervert." Severus shook his head. "Tell me, Albus - why I'm still trying to talk to Minerva? Am I getting used to being insulted? Am I a masochist, enjoying it secretly? It would explain a lot, wouldn't it?"

Minerva wasn't so easily distracted. She didn't pay Severus any attention, but pulled again on Albus' sleeve. "Do you want to marry the girl?"

"Do you have a better idea?" Albus asked back.

"The girl is hardly 18." Minerva was almost crying. "And you're 163, Albus Dumbledore!"

"Isn't that good for the girl? It means she's to become a widow soon - free and able to find herself a nice, young husband when the war is finally over." Albus had another look at his cupboard. This time two tumblers and a bottle flew through the room and settled on the mantlepiece. Albus crooked his index finger, the bottle opened, jumped in the air, hovered for a moment playfully over the tumblers, then finally filled it with a golden liquor before hopping back to its place. Albus took one of the glasses and gave it Minerva. "You look as if you were in dire need of a stiff Scottish whisky. Here we go ..."

Minerva took the tumbler and sank back in her chair. "Oh, Albus!" she signed after a sip. "In what times do we live? A 17 year old student of ours, a child in our care - and we're talking about marrying her off to an 163 year old man!" She swallowed hard and a single tear rolled over wrinkled check.

"After almost seven years of teaching the girl in question my sympathy is rather with Albus than with Miss Granger", Severus stated coldly. "The law demands the couple to live together. If I were to live with Miss Granger and her endless questions and her showing off and her blabbering and those brainless friends of her I'd surely go mad after only a week."

"Severus, sometimes you're a monster!" Minerva hissed. "An unfeeling, cold, heartless monster!"

"Only sometimes?" Severus raised one elegant black eyebrow. "I shall have to work on my manners then. There's another matter of this arrangement we'll have to discuss. The law makes it clear: the marriage contract rees tes the consummation of the marriage within 24 hours of the binding ceremony and from then on at least twice a month. If the marriage doesn't comply with these terms for more then four weeks without good reason for the delay then the couple become divorced automatically.

"In the case of a divorce both partners are free for other suitors again - the game starts anew. And no, Minerva, you don't have to think about 'good reason' for not consummating the marriage. Our dear minister of magic, the oh-so-wise Cornelius Fudge, wants to decide himself what is 'good reason'. I don't think Minerva McGonagall's feeling that sex between a student and the headmaster is inappropriate would counta goa good reason in our minister's eyes. If he weren't married to his old goat, he'd probably get himself a nice, young muggleborn witch too - and he'd even feel that he was doing the world some good.

"He wanted this law for breeding reasons, if I may remind you. He's afraid our community will die out or become weaker because of the near incestuous intermarrying between the old pureblood families. You can bet your wrinkled arse on Fudge being delighted about the idea of Hermione Granger and Albus Dumbledore having childtogetogether. He won't let them off. There isn't a loophole- I've read this section of the law very carefully and more then once. So the question is: Albus, are you up to bedding Hermione Granger on a regular basis?"

"Severus!" Minerva McGonagall thundered. "This is an outrage! How can you humiliate Albus like that?"

Albus sighed. "I don't feel humiliated by Severus' question, dear Minerva. To answer it: I think I'll manage ..." For a moment he hesitated, then he spoke again. "It may need your help for this, Severus."

"Oh sweet Merlin!" Severus hid his face in his hands.

Albus' mouth smiled, but his eyes looked sad and very, very old. "It is the potion master's hehat hat I may want, not the man's."

"Severus knows that!" Minerva's glance sent daggers at her colleague. "One could think he enjoys this."

"Right your are, Minerva." Severus' black eyes threw the daggers back - one for one. "My sense of humour was what made me join Voldemort's ranks in the first place. You can't deny it: He's got a marvellous style in providing amusement. Making the Potter brat a hero before he was home trained - that was strike of genius. Hiding himself in Quirell's turban - I've rarely laughed so hard before. And now playing Cupid for Hermione Granger and Albus Dumbledore - you must admit, Minerva: even if we three had set our minds for a fortnight to it - we wouldn't have come to a plan so hilarious as this."

Minerva drank the last sip of her whisky, then she stood up, putting the glass back on its place with more energy than was necessary. "I can't think anymore. It's too late. Let's talk again tomorrow after we've all slept on it, shall we?" 

Albus Dumbledore wasn't used on insomnia. Despite his age, the workload the headmaster of a school as big as Hogwarts had to manage and even the war, which was now in his , the old wizard was not only of good health, but enjoying a lucky disposition also. However bad the times were - Albus Dumbledore had managed all his life with a strong belief in the light and its power. Sometimes his sour potion master named him a "sentimental old fool" for it, sometimes he even maintained that Dumbledore's optimistic view of the world in general and people under his wings in special would made his superior too easy thrusting and would therefore lead to disaster. And being the bitter man said potion master was, he rarely forgot by talking about this subject to remind Albus of his failures in the past - like engaging a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who wasn't only a strong believer of Voldemort, but hosted the evil wizard in his body and let him fed from his life force or - a decision by Albus Severus Snape was even angrier about - supporting once a certain Cornelius Fudge in his ambitions to become the almighty minister of magic.

Albus never denied that both decisions - based on his trust in this people - had showed itself as mistakes, but - much to Severus Snape's dismay - refused to take them as lessons for further decisions.

When ever the men spoke about, Albus said: "If I were to become suspicious because two people failed me, I'd be unjust against all the people who earned my trust. In the sum of the long life I've lived I got much more joy out of trusting as I became disappointed. Therefore I won't change."  
By  
By then he never remembered Severus, that he was one of the people who held Albus' trust and had got with that a chance to redeem themself. Yet both wizard were aware of the fact, that it was this act of faith - or love? - in a moment where Severus neither expected nor deserved it which had kept Severus not only out of the wizard's prison Azkaban, but alive and able to bear his life as a spy in Voldemort's inner circle.

Yet now, in this winter night in which Albus couldn't sleep, it wasn't Severus Snape he worried about. And actually it even wasn't Hermione Granger, the girl who was to become Mrs Dumbledore in a few days. Albus, being not only Hogwarts headmaster, but the leader of the resistance against the force of the darkness, had became pragmatic. He knew only too well that a war couldn't be fought without victims and that leadership meant always to keep the balance between the demands of the individuals and the needs of the entire group. He loathed to sacrifice people - but if endangering one for saving thousands was the only chance, Albus Dumbledore was not only able, but willing to shoulder the responsibility for it.

So it weren't the tears the girl was about to cry when learning about her future which kept the sleep away from the old headmaster. He knew the war would come to an end soon and he knew also, that he would become one of the victims in the last and final battle. Six months, perhaps a year - almost nothing in the lifespan of a witch - and then Hermione Granger would be free again.

It was him what worried Albus. For the first time in years he allowed himself the luxury to think about his own life. He was never a man to fool himself, so he was aware that this marriage would change his life and it almost amused him to find himself wandering in his dressing gown around his tower's balcony and thinking about marital life. It wasn't as if he'd never before thought about. Albus liked women, all his life he had liked and enjoyed their company. In young years he probably even enjoyed it too much - it had been one of the reasons why he never married. Although he had been in love more then once, he never could himself convince that this witch was the one and only witch, the witch he wanted to wake up next to for the rest of his life.

Another reason for always shying away when the lady started to talk about meeting her parents or forming closer bands was the fact, that Albus Dumbledore never could imagine having a family of his own. He loved children, he enjoyed teaching, he missed their laughter and even their noise when Hogwarts was deserted during the holidays, but he loved his freedom and solitude too. Sometimes it felt to him as if playing the role of the always patient, caring and all-understanding headmaster all day, that having always an open ear not only for his students, but for their parents and the teachers also, drained him so much that he couldn't trust himself for providing a wife and a family with his love and care too.

But now he was to get himself a wife - and a very young and insecure one too, a wife who would need a lot of support and help to bear the lose of her youth, freedom and probably even friends. Dumbledore knew, that living with him would distance Hermione from her friends and that she was sensitive enough to suffer from it. She would need his comfort and he saw it as his responsibility to make sure that she'd get at least a bit of the fun a girl her age deserved. And this, the headmaster thought, while he stepped down the stairs from his office, lead to the next point: Sex.

Dumbledore knew, that probably 99 % of his students and the majority of the teachers - if they ever thought about her headmaster being a male - simply would get over it with saying: "He's so old, he doesn't need it anymore." And they were right. Albus didn't need sex anymore. But he still enjoyed it - not so often as when young, but once or twice a month he spent a few hours or a night in the always delightful company of one Rosmerta, landlady of Hogsmeade's most frequented pub, 80 year old, but still nice and generous equipped widow.

Albus and Rosmerta were friends since ages and their discreet, but satisfying affair lasted now for two decades. Albus knew, Rosmerta would stay his friend if she wasn't to be his lover anymore, but he would miss her and the sweet hours they spent together in her huge and cosy four poster bed. Both being not young anymore, they'd settled for gentleness and generosity with each other. She didn't expect great passion from him, he didn't mind when her embrace was sometimes more comforting as erotic.

How would it be with Hermione? Albus didn't like the thought of his old, bony hands on her young flesh, he didn't like the idea of a lover who closed her eyes and cursed the ministry during the act. To think of the girl feeling only disgust against the ancient body in her bed would make the act of which Albus used to think as "love making" to a rape. Albus frowned by the sheer idea of it - and the more he thought about, the more he became certain: To this he was not up. All his instincts, all his self, his soul and the conscience of a teacher, of a man who spend a lifetime with protecting the innt, nt, stood against and Albus, being familiar with himself, was certain: His body wouldn't obey to him for such a task.

Of course, they were certain charms and potions, most of them so easily to cast or to brew that he could do them between tooth brushing and combing his hair (something he was fond of doing without magic - and he was even fonder of having it done by a nice, not too much clothed woman). Yet the idea of overpowering his body to the mercy of forced need he disliked. Wasn't it like raping himself and betraying his partner for the pleasure of feeling desired? What would it do to the girl in his bed if she were to know, that the man sleeping with her didn't do because he wanted her, but only could do because a charm pushed him? How was she to get any pleasure from it, how could she feel joy by such an outrage?

Albus Dumbledore was certain: He wouldn't - couldn't - do it this way. But as he wandered though the dark and empty halls of Hogwart, the vague idea he'd got by talking with Severus and Minerva began to enfold itself and became finally a plan - good enough to make him smile for a second and getting him back in his bedroom for a few hours of urgently needed rest.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Looking at the winter sun

"Miss Granger?"

The brown-haired girl, seating at the Gryffindor table, looked up from the heavy, leather-bound book she'd read in and swallowed the piece of toast in her mouth. "Yes, Professor McGonagall?" she answered eagerly.

"I'd like to have word with you, Miss Granger," the professor said crisp. "Please come to my office when you're done with your breakfast."

"I have a potions class to attend in only 10 minut..,..," Hermione reminded her teacher.

"I'm well informed about the seventh years time table, having made it myself, Miss Granger." Minerva McGonagall pressed her lips together. "Therefore I've already spoken with Professor Snape. You're dismissed from his class." Without waiting for an answer, Minerva McGonagall turned and walked to the door, chin up, back erect, her long, dark blue robe sweeping over the stone floor of the hall.

"Whow - what was that about?" The bn Hen Hermione's left side shove an unruly strand of jet-black hair out of his forehead, his green eyes looking worried.

"Did you do something wrong?" the redhead on Hermione's other side asked.

Hermione cautiously closed the book and shoved it in her bag. Without looking to the boy she said quietly: "I don't think it's about something I did wrong. It's probably worse."

"Worse?" The freckled redhead was all wondering. "What could be worse? I mean, your parents are already dead ..."

Ron Ron!" The other boy shook his head. "It's only eight in the morning and you've already managed to put both your feet in this big mouth of yours."

"I ... I mean ... I wanted to say," Ron Weasley, not only best friend of the famous boy-who-lived, but of Hermione Granger too, stammered. "Hermione knows how I meant it!" he finished finally a bit lamely.

Hermione tried a weak smile. Although it was now over a year her parents had died in a car crash, she still mourned. Yet she really understood what Ron had tried to express - close as he was to his parents he simply couldn't imagine something worse then losing them. Unfortunately Hermione could - at least after she'd survived her parent's death already. Her glance wandered through the great hall to the table of the Hufflepuffs where a group of seventh years had gathered around a girl who sobbed on her girlfriends shoulder.

Harry Potter's green eyes followed Hermione's and he swallowed hard. "You think it's about this marriage law McGonagall wants to speak with you?"

Hermione nodded, now packing a quill and a piece of parchment in her bag. "I'm afraid so."

"But you're not 18 yet!" cried Ron. "So no one can ..."

"Ron, you forget: I've had this time turner during my ." Hermione rose, throwing the heavy bag over her shoulder. "In nine days time I'll be18 - at least in the magic world. Then every pureblood wizard can ask for me ..."

"But you don't have to worry about that!" Ron became agitated. "I or one of my brothers will marou. ou. We've already talked this all over, haven't we?"

"Yes, Ron." Hermione looked up to the wizard's watch over the entrance of the hall. One of its hands just opened and gripped to a table with the inscription "Time for class". Hermione sighed - potion, though a fascinating subject, wasn't actually a favourite class of her because of Professor Snape's acerbic way to belittle his students, especially when they were Gryffindors. But in this time she'd much rather go even a four hours detention with the potion master as to Professor McGonagall's office. Nevertheless she tried an encouraging smile in the direction of the boys. "You should be going - and so shall I. See you later then!"

On her way through the now heavily crowded and noisy halls of the school Hermione felt once again rage and misery growing inside herself. Since a few weeks ago the marriage law had ben announced by the ministry, she'd knew that her dreams about a scholarship and an education on a magical university would be shattered. It had been only for her friends comfort that she after nightlong talks with them finally maintained to believe in what she silently named "the highly unlikely Weasley solution." Hermione was too clever to believe that marriage with a Weasley - if Ron or one of the twins or Charly or Bill uld uld really give her back what this law had taken: The chance to become a person of her own, a scholar, a transfigurations or a potions mistress and perhaps even once a teacher in Hogwarts. The ministry had made the law to raise the wizard's population. So they wouldn't give out scholarships to the young witches they only saw as breeding stock. And with the Weasleys being a poor, but huge family, hardly able to pay for their own children further education, Hermione simply wouldn't stand a chance to attend an university.

Besides: Hermione couldn't imagine to marry a Weasley. Ron was her best friend - next to Harry, of course - and his parents and siblings were very dear to her, probably they even were the next thing she'd now to a family after her parents death, but this was just a reason more for not wanting to marry in this family. She wasn't in love with one of the Weasley boys, so a marriage with one of them could only lead to disaster and misery - and how was she to look in Molly Weasley's eyes again, knowing that she was the reason for one of Mols bas babies suffering?  
No, a Weasley for a husband wouldn't do. But being Hogwarts resident star pupil, praised by every teacher (except Snape of course who'd have rather liked to pickle his tongue himself in one of his more poisonous potions) for intellect and sensibility, hadn't kept away Hermione from dreaming and hoping that despite the marriage law her life wouldnbecobecome a waste. Perhaps a nice and intelligent young wizard who liked her brains would ask for her? Her hopes didn't reach so high she dared to dream of falling in love with the husband-to-be, but couldn't it be possible that she got a husband she liked? One who perhaps studied at an university himself and therefore would allow her to get a degree too?

Hermione had hoped for it and all the days since she knew of the law, clung to this hope. Whenever panic treated to overwhelm her, she'd said to herself: "You're not a breathtaking beauty, you're not having any money, the only thing interesting about you is your intellect. So there's hope some one will choice you just for your brains - and somebody doing so surely wouldn't want you to waste the only good thing you've to offer."

Now she couldn't comfort herself with this thought anymore. Considered how shaken Professor McGonagall had looked by ordering Hermione to her office, Hermione knew she had to prepare herself for the worst case.

A desk shattered with parchment and books; a four poster bed with red hangings; a bit shabby and paled from years and years of hanging there, two cosy red and golden decorated chairs in front of a little fireplace; on the mantelpiece a muggle-photography of a happy smiling couple next to a moving wizard's picture with a red- and black-haired boy, both waving and pushing each other almost out of the frame; a ginger cat curled to a furball and sleeping in front of the fire - only a few hours before Hermione had thought of this room as her home, the place she belonged to. Of course, she had been aware of the fact that in a few months she were to move out of the head girl's room, that another girl would then live there, but from the first moment Hermione had set foot on Hogwarts, she'd felt she'd belonged there. And she had always hoped that after leaving as a student, she'd come back one day as a teacher. Now, leaning with her back against the door of this room, looking to her small worldly goods, Hermione wondered why she didn't hear fate laughing at her and her ambitions. "Be careful with what you wish," her father had often said. "Life may give it to you."

He was been so right, Hermione thought. Life had obviously given to her what she had wished so much: She wouldn't have to leave Hogwarts. The huge castle with his magnificent towers, the candle-light halls, the moving stairs, Hogwarts in all its ancient glory was to finally become her home. Only the praise she'd have to pay for it ... Hermione didn't know what to think about it.

Professor McGonagall's voice rang still in her ear, this sad and suddenly so old voice, with which she had said: "There's another way out: You could break your wand and leave the wizard's world. The headmaster could take care you'll get a place at a muggles college in Ireland, so you could start a new life as a muggle ..."

Hermione had immediately refused. She didn't need to think about. Her magic was a part of her, a part she dearly loved, something what gave her not only pride, but strength. She would do anything - really anything, even marrying Malfoy - for keeping her magic.

Malfoy . Hermione herself of the door and wandered in her room, her fists balled. Malfoy. As Minerva had told her, that Lucius Malfoy wanted her for his son and heir, Hermione had almost fainted. Even in her worse nightmare she'd never come up with an idea so abysmal, so entirely horrible! The name "Malfoy" stood for anything she detested - the dark side, evilness, abused power. Lucius Malfoy was as the devil himself - or at least he was close to the devil, wasn't he? And he wanted to petition for her as his son's bride? The bride of a boy she'd loathed from the first moment she'd sat eyes on him, the boy who'd never done anything as showing her how above he thought she was to him? Hermione's blood started boiling by thinking of Draco. She'd almost protested as Professor McGonagall had said: "Of course, marrying him isn't a option" because she'd actually wanted so much to get her hands around his neck. And what a nice wedding night Hermione could have with the pale snake named "Draco Malfoy"! Wouldn't it be fun to hex his balls off and stuff his big mouth with them? Afterwards she could transfigure him to something nice - a toad perhaps? Or perhaps an earthworm? Then she could go for a little fishing with him as the bait. Wouldn't that be a wonderful way to show the world, that even a Malfoy could be of use? Hermione knew for sure: As long as Draco didn't dare to cast an unforgivable, she could easily stand up to him. And Draco wouldn't dare, coward as he was. But with Malfoy sr. one could never know. He probably translated "Imperio" with "I persuaded somebody nicely", thought of "crucio" as something one should practice at least once a week because a good trained torture wand flick could always come in handy and spend his free hours probably with changing the green light of the killing curse in something which wouldn't make him look so pale by casting it. No, to marry a Malfoy surely wasn't a option.

So it was ... Hermione sank down in one of her chairs, swallowing hard and repeated loudly what she just only had thought: "My only option is the headmaster."

Her tomcat awoke at the sound of her voice, stretching and blinking to her out of blurry eyes.

"What do you think about that, Crookshanks?" Hermione asked her familiar. "In only nine days I'll move in the main tower. And yes, you're coming with me." Crookshanks rose, came to her and rubbed his head on her leg. "You'll have to behave then, Crooks. No hopping in bed at night anymore, no chasing around like mad ..."

Crookshanks meowed and it sounded like a protest. Hermione smiled tiredly. As Minera had told her, that she was to live with Dumbledore in his private quarters, Hermione had said, before thinking about: "But I've got Crookshanks and he's got a phoenix. Can one keep a cat when a bird is around?" The moment she'd spoken, she'd became ashamed of harping on something so small when so much bigger things were at stake.

Yet Minerva had not only understood, but granted Hermione one of her rare touches. Stroking lightly over her student's hand, she'd answered: "Don't you worry, Hermione. Fawkes and Crookshanks will be fine together. Fawkes is quite fond of cats, you know?" Considered that Minerva was an animagnus and her animal form was a tabby cat, Hermione thought she could trust her jugdement.

So there was no need to worry about Crookshanks - what meant: Hermione couldn't avoid any longer to think about the man she'd get as a husband.

Albus Dumbledore. People said he was the greatest wizard alive, powerful as Merlin himself, mighty as the founders of Hogwarts, the only enemy Voldemort feared and probably the only one who stood a real chance to defeat him. Hermione didn't doubt all this and as Minerva had told her, that she'd live with Dumbledore, a tiny part of her had felt something like pride that a man like this cared so much about her. And there was been a tiny voice in Hermione which has said: "Think of the possibilities! Living with the greatest wizard alive, learning from him ..." She always admired how he did wandless magic - just so, with one wave of the hand, sometimes even only with a flick of a finger. If he would teach her that - it would be worth ... how much would it be worth?

Hermione rose and went to the mantelpiece where she took a silver bell and ringed it. The house elve's service was one of the privileges which came with becoming head girl and after almost seven years in the magical world Hermione had learned, that the tiny creatures really loved to serve wizards. After learning that Hermione never tried again to "free" house elves - S.P.E.W., the organisation she'd founded during her fourth year, was by now forgotten and the elves had forgiven Hermione that she hadn't understood their ways. So she was now content in dealing with them, she even sometimes liked to talk a bit with one of the strange creatures. Yet the one, now with a "pop" appearing in front of her, she'd never seen before. It wore - as all Hogwarts house elves - a crisp white tea towel with the Hogwarts crest, but it seemed to be older as the other elves and it looked more dignified. In the contrast to the most other elves who were often a bit overexcited by becoming ordered, this one didn't bump up and down and it even didn't look to her as if she'd keep the hail of the world. Instead the elve looked almost curious to Hermione, his - or hers? Hermione was never sure with house elves and had therefore always to ask for the name first - ears pricked, his eyes interested, but with a self-confidence Hermione had never before seen in a house-elfe.

Actually Hermione had long ago learned that house elves didn't like to answer personal questions and tried to avoid it whenever they could, nevertheless she asked: "Who are you? I've never seen you before. Are you new at the castle?"

The house-elve bowed. "The name's Woopy and I is a very long time here, Miss Hermione." She pronounced the name as if it had a special meaning for her.

"It's nice to meet you, Woppy," Hermione said with a smile.

Once again Woppy bowed. "It will be my pleasure to serve Miss Hermione too," she answered.

Hermione became more and more curious. The house elve wasn't like the other and the way she'd said "too" - it had sounded as if she'd meant something special. Or somebody special? Hermione couldn't resist asking: "Who do you serve?"

"I serves witches and wizards," the house-elve replied.

Hermione smiled. Despite the circumstances, the situation began to amuse her and she was grateful to the little creature for the distraction it granted her. "Any special witches and wizards?" she tried therefore again - and regretted it immediately, because Woopy sank her head and looked to her naked feet.

As Hermione just wanted to apologize for the personal question, Woopy spoke. "I isn't to tell you," she said, sounding embarassed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," Hermione answered immediately. Thinking of what house elves liked best, she smiled and said: "Could you perhaps bring me a cup of tea?"

It worked. Woopy rose her head, her eyes beaming. "Woopy will!" it cried and was gone with a "pop".

Hermione sighed. "Strange, this house-elves, aren't they?" she said to her tomcat, who laid now on the back of her chair. Crookshanks of course didn't answer, so Hermione lend back, waiting for the tea.

A few moments later the house elve appeared again, carrying a tree not only with tea, but with a chocolate cake on it too. "Your tea, Miss Hermione," it announced.

Hermione took the cup and closed her hands around, grateful for the warmth of it. "Thank you, Woopy. But I didn't ask for cake. I don't think I'm hungry."

"Miss Hermione should eat the cake. She'll need her strength," the elve said, disappeared and let an amazed Hermione back.

Slowly she rose from the chair and wandered, the cup still in her hand, to the window. Being on the south side of Gryffindor Tower she could see the main tower. On his roof stood - so high above over all other buildings that it looked like a child's toy - the statue of a wizard, proudly holding a pole - and yes, this day a flag was flying from the pole. Hermione sighed relieved - and almost laughed about herself. Yet she remembered very well the few days in her fifth year as the ministry had still tried to deny that Voldemort was back. They'd sent a high inquisitor to Hogwarts and for a few days it had seemed as if this cunning, cruel politician had really managed to wrest the school's lead out of the headmaster's hand. She'd even named herself headmistress then. Yet the castle hadn't obeyed to her. The stone gargoyle watching the entrance to the headmaster's office hadn't led her through and the wizard on the main tower had lowered the flag and stood there, his pole planted next to his feet, looking as if he would never again raise it. And despite the terror of this day - Hermione had every time by glancing at the main tower felt as if she'd actually should mount a broom (although she always became sick in doing so) and fly to the roof for giving the wizard a kiss. She'd never done it, but since then she'd always felt a quick shoot of relieve when looking to the wizard and seeing the flag.

Today it was the Hogwarts crest on a deep red background. Hermione looked closer - yes, the flag flying in the cold icy wind was definitely showing the Gryffindor colour. Hermione knew what this meant. The flag was enchanted so that it always showed the colour of the authority in charge of the school. The Gryffindor red stood for Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor house. So much Hermione liked the Gryffindor colour - her favourite for the flag was white. It meant that the headmaster himself was in residence and by knowing that Hermione always felt secure and protected. She was sure she wasn't the only one who saw it this way. Dumbledore's presence seemed to radiate calmness and warmth to all Hogwarts, even if he didn't present himself to the meals in the great hall. It was enough to know that he was there, in his round office in the main tower. Yet not seeing him for meals meant mostly a crisis - or was it only Hermione's imagination which made her believe so? She wasn't sure about, but when he came to the meals, even at breakfast always looking a magnificent sight with his heavy, glorious embroidered robes and the long, silver hair softly shimmering in the light of the great hall, she felt better. Admittedly it hadn't been like this ever.

Hermione remembered well how she'd set eyes on the headmaster for the first time. She had been an insecure, nervous 11 year old by then, totally overwhelmed of suddenly finding herself in the wizard's world, but with everything she was already determined to show that she belonged there. Walking behind Professor McGonagall down the aisle of the great hall, she'd seen Dumbledore first, a figure out of a fairy tale, so strange, so far away, so absolutely incomprehele.  
le.

Yet over the first months in Hogwarts Hermione had mostly felt irritated when it came to the headmaster. In her eyes the greatest wizard alive was to be a man of high authority, serious, settled, aware of his position, an icon of dignity and quiet wisdom. Only Dumbledore was neither quiet nor serious nor - so at least young Hermione found - very dignified. On the contrary: Always cheerful, with a sunny smile and the twinkle in his blue eyes he looked as if he'd thought of life as fun. And he was playful like a toddler, Hermione thought often and sometimes even with a little disgust. He seemed to love nothing more as to play around with his magic - changing decorations during meals, amusing himself with making all Hogwarts inhabitants sing silly songs, deputizing in the transfiguration class and not teaching anything decent and useful, but how to make disgusting bright lollipops out of quills. Once Hermione had even watched how he'd during a meal played a prank with Professor Snape who really wasn't amused as his lamb chops started to complain about feeling neglected because he only picked on them. Hermione had sympathized with Snape at that. To her it seemed simply inappropriate that a man as great as she wanted Hogwarts headmaster to be was wasting his magic at such frivolities. She didn't understand how he could give the Slytherins - especially Draco Malfoy and his cronies - such opportunities to name him a "doddering old fool who should be certified" and a "senile idiot who's long lost his grip and power".

For the first three years in Hogwarts Hermione never felt confident about Albus Dumbledore. She never talked about, not even with Harry and Ron. On the contrary - "If you can't trust Dumbledore, who can you trust?" became one of her trademark sayings whenever Ron and Harry doubted Snape's loyalty.

It needed a certain quidditch match in her 3. Year to show Hermione that the Slytherins were really and truly and deeply wrong about the old wizard. It needed the feared dementors of Azkaban to step in this match, making Harry fell from his broom 50 feet above the ground, producing sheer panic not only by the students, but by some teachers too. In the middle of the chaos they produced, suddenly Albus Dumbledore became the central figure, standing in the station, his robe billowing and his hair flattering in the wand, wand raised, stopping Harry's fall only a few feet over the ground with one flick. And then his voice had boomed: "Expecto patronus!" A silvern stream had shoot out of the tip of his wand, had became a huge eagle, spreading wings which seemed so big they almost had filled the station. The eagle had taken flight against the dementors who fled in a last, ear-shattering rustle of their black cloaks.

Hermione, always a step ahead her class, had by then already knew, that a patronus charm, so huge as this eagle, so strong it could drive away an entire herd of dementors, could only be cast by a very mighty sorcerer. But even without this knowledge - Hermione would have got it then. The Albus Dumbledore she'd seen at the quidditch ground had radiated pure, sheer power, a power so overwhelming it would have been terrifying if Hermione hadn't felt that it was handled with the greatest care and self-discipline.

From this day on Hermione had never again doubted or underestimated the headmaster. She'd never again cringed when she'd heard one of the Slytherins belittle him. On the contrary - she'd sometimes even laughed on them, thinking: "How thick must one be for believing in Dumbledore's harmless old fool attitude?"  
Yet against herself she had to admit: For a few months after the quidditch match his playfulness had still irritated her - even so much that it came immediately to her mind as she was for holidays with an aunt of her who was a muggle scientist, specialised in animal's behaviour and its connection to human psychology. Hermione found the subject fascinating enough to have hour long talks with her aunt und so one evening the aunt mentioned playfulness on animal.

Hermione, thinking of Dumbledore, asked for what evolutionary reason an animal could have got something so useless as that. Her aunt had smiled then. "First - playfulness, or the need to play as we see it, isn't useless at all. Quite the contrary. We're convinced that it was their playfulness what lead to development of first cultural steps with the bonobos. This are very interesting animals - close relatives to the chimpanzees, sharing almost 95 % of their genetic with mankind and very, very clever in not only handle tools, but in teaching it to their offsprings. We believe that they discovered tools by playing - slapping stones against each other for the fun of making noise, testing how stone against nuts would sound - and there you go: It doesn't sound especially interesting, but it's a way to open nuts which are too hard for getting cracked with the teeth. So playing lead to getting more food - an improvement and of course an advantage in the evolution. The second point is: Playfulness in animals - and I dare say in adult human beings too - is always a sign of intelligence. An animal who needs all his brain just for getting food and sleep and shelter doesn't play. It will always be too distressed. Only the individuals who can manage the necessities of their life without reaching their intellectual limits are able and willing to play."

Hermione had been very impressed by this and since then she saw Dumbledore's "frivolities" with other eyes. Getting elder and becoming securer herself, she'd even started to like the warm humour and the self-irony he was showing with it.

Yet her admiration, liking and trust for the headmaster didn't change the fact that Hermione hardly knew him. Only twice in all the time in Hogwarts he had spoken more then a few polite words to her - and the memory of this moments with Dumbledore wasn't something Hermione was keen to recall. It was only one year ago, on a winter afternoon like this, that librarian Irma Piece had came to the desk Hermione was working at in the library and had whispered: "The headmaster asked me to ask you if you'd come kindly to his office. He wants to talk to you." She'd given Hermione the password and a few minutes later Hermione had found herself crying in the headmaster's fatherly embrace after he'd told her about her parents death.

Three days later he'd stood with her on the graveyard next to a small church, looking very strange in a black muggle-coat with black suit, tie and white shirt under it, his hair and beard hidden under a disguise charm. Hermione remembered how his hand had felt as he'd laid it under her elbow for support, a strong grip from which she got energy in a moment in which she'd felt drained and weak. And she remembered something else: His smell. She'd first got it in her nose as he had her comforted in his office - an unique mixture from the lemon drops he was so fond of, sandalwood, herb lavender and something she couldn't recognize, but found not only pleasant, but calming too.

Thinking about the headmaster's unique smell lead Hermione, still standing at the window, to the thought she'd tried to avoid since Minerva, probably wondering how quietly Hermione had accepted the idea of Dumbledore as her husband, had blushed deeply and mumbled: "And for the ... uhm ... ahem ... I mean ... for the very private matters of marriage ... you know about what I'm talking about, don't you? ... you will have to talk with Albus ... I mean with Professor Dumbledore ... uhm ...I'm sure he'll make it so easy to you as possible."

Was it still being in a shock that Hermione chuckled by remembering this? She'd never before seen crisp Professor McGonagall so wriggly - she'd really looked as if she'd rather tango with a mountain troll as going further with this subject. But with her stammering she'd given Hermione at least time to keep herself away from giggling hysterically by the imagech fch formed in her head: Herself waltzing in the headmaster's office, casually saying: "Professor McGonagall asked me to ask you how you think we shall do our marital duty. Shall we work on a time table or do you prefer spontaneous sex?"

Actually Hermione couldn't imagine that the headmaster - or Albus how she should learn to call him - preferred any kind of sex over a good night's sleep, being 163 years old! And the idea of the body underneath all the heavy robes - and all this hair! How did - if he did at all! - avoid to get his beard tangled ... - no, Hermione did wan want to think this thought to the end. Not now. She'd probably learn soon enough - in only nine days she'd lay in his bed, hopefully not hysterically giggling about the irony that her lover was born a victorian, but she felt like one in closing her eyes and thinking of England.

At least there were two thoughts with which Hermione could comfort herself. First: it couldn't be so worse as her first time last summer when she had met her poor attempt of a first love Victor Krum again and learned by it, that he was not only as thick as a brick, but except on his broomstick probably the clumsiest human being alive. The only good thing she could say about sex with him was, that he didn't talk quidditch by it - but probably only because saying "quidditch" would need longer as he'd last.

And the second comfort was Hermione's good, old mantra: "If you can't trust Dumbledore - who can you trust?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Buffonery and butterbeer

»Good evening, Albus, « greeted Madam Rosmerta, landlady of »The Three Broomsticks«, cheerfully the visitor who fell out of the fireplace in her bedchamber, landing just in front of her feet on the thick, wollen carpet.  
»Merlin's beard!« he complained, in this moment looking not very dignified and making a face like a boy who'd just lose his lollipop. »Your fireplace really is too small! Couldn't you get yourself a bigger one where one could make an entrance without becoming a mess every time?«  
Rosmerta laughed. She'd heard this often enough and so she replied amused: »Dear Albus, may I remind you that I've got a huge fireplace?« She pointed with her finger to the floor which was just over the hall of her pub.  
»Would you like me to come through the public floo?« Albus got on his feet, stretched his back with a little sigh and started to knock ashes and soot from his dark blue robe.  
»No, love, I wouldn't,« answered Rosmerta and rose to kiss his check. »It would ruin your reputation as the venerable headmaster, spoil my chances to become charmed by our dear minister of magic and - worst of all! - rob me of the chance to see the great Albus Dumbledore on his knees in front of me.«  
»Wicked woman!« Albus stroke tenderly over Rosmerta's still dark hair and let himself then sink in one of her pushy chairs.  
»Isn't this why you love me?« Rosmerta teased him, seating herself down on the arm of his chair.  
Albus laid an arm around her and lend his head on her soft breasts.'s o's one of the reasons, Rosmerta,« he said, enjoying her fingers, playing lightly in his hair.  
»I know. The other is your fess ess of my butterbeer. Shall I get you one?« she asked, lifting his chin with her hand so that she could look in his eyes. »I've made chocolate cake for you - and you look as if this were just what the healer has ordered. Shall I get you a huge slice?«  
»I'd love both - butterbeer and cake.« Albus opened the buttons of his high collar, took the glasses from his nose, put it down on the table next to him and closed his eyes. »I've had dinner with your admirer,« he said.  
Rosmerta, already on her feet and on her way to the door, looked back over her shoulder, smiling. »Which one? You know I have masses of admirers, swarming all over the place.«  
»As you deserve, my girl, as you deserve,« Albus smiled back, but became immediately serious again. »I was with Fudge.«  
»Poor darling!« Rosmerta said sympathetically. »Give me a moment, then I'll be back with butterbeer and the cake. It will restore you in no time, trust me.«  
Albus sighed and sank deeper in the comfortable chair. For a few seconds he allowed himself to doze, warmed by the fire and the cosiness of the room which was so entirely Rosmerta - bright and generous and peaceful. But then he braced himself again, once again stretching his back. This evening he couldn't simply relax in this chair - at least not before he'd told Rosmerta what he had to tell. For what she was and for everything she'd given him over the years she deserved none less as absolute honesty.  
Yet he felt tired to the bones, tired and in a way discouraged he hadn't been in a long time. It hadn't been only a long, but a hell of a day. He'd only slept for two hours in the night, then he was already up again, seeing Minerva for a very early breakfast and deciding with her that she was to talk with Hermione Granger first - and as soon as possible. A walk to the dungeons where his potion master resided had came next, but there at least he'd got away easier as he'd reckoned. Severus hadn't been in such a bad mood as Albus had feared, he'd even had shown something like sympathy for his superior and friend. Probably he was becoming softer with the years - or was it only that he too had been too exhausted for an argument about the idea Albus had submitted to him? Severus had agreed to it too easily for Albus' taste. He liked his potion master sharp-minded and even sharp-tongued - seeing him only nod and talking about »how to do it« instead of debating why to do it showed a kind of resignation and acceptance in fate which didn't suit Severus' character. Albus had been prepared for persuading Severus, for convincing him and even for begging him on behalf of their friendship, so only asking and getting the promise of ort ort irritated him and in walking away from Severus Albus had once again felt as if he'd failed the boy he considered not only his friend, but his son. He was sure he should have talked with him not only about the plan, but about Severus' state of mind too, but he couldn't have done so because he was to attend a meeting of the Wizengamot in the ministry. By walking to the apparation point in front of the Hogwarts gate Albus had already knew, that he'd fail in his attempt to convince the members in setting their feet down against the new marriage law. Nevertheless he had tried - he still hoped he could win the wizard's council one by one and so with time manage to get the thing done.  
The next point of his agenda he'd found even worse: Fudge had asked Albus to accompany him to a talk with the muggle prime minister. The muggle officials had taken notice of Voldemort and his crimes by now ahey hey urgently wanted to know how the wizards dealt with the problem. Albus didn't believe that Fudge's tactic of maintaining auroaurors were having the situation under control was right, but to start a panic under the muggles in telling them the entire, cruel truth wouldn't do either. The last thing both worlds - the wizard's and the muggles - needed were muggle forces messing around with death eathers, so Albus had tried a bce ace act between calming and warning them. For this he'd demonstrated some magic - a show of power for the muggles which left him back feeling as if he were the minister's clown.  
Afterwards dinner with Fudge - and this meant the minister shoving food in his mouth without stopping his ramble about this and that and the other for a single second and with Fudge's all too eager secretary Percy Weasley overdoing pathetic attempts of mirroring the minister's mood in always seconding him - laughing about the feeblest of jokes as if it were the funniest thing ever heard, nodding gravely when the minister complained about how better »the old times« had and and how hard it was for him to be minister of magic in such bad times. After two hours of this even the often proved and long trained patience of Albus Dumbledore was almost at its end. He'd found himself suddenly thinking about a few nice jinxes for the minister and his assistant and discovered once again that he sometimes envied his potion master - certainly not for his task as a spy with Voldemort, but for his reputation as a cynic with the social skills of a dragon suffering migraine. To give Fudge a piece of his mind would had made Albus day and it would have been surely more fun as shoving his food appetite less around his dish.

He heard Rosmerta coming back, the heels of her red pumps cheerfully clicking on the wooden floor as she rushed in the room, carrying a tray with two bottles and a delicious looking chocolate cake. She put a slice of it on a dish and gave it to Albus, watching him with a motherly smile as he started to eat.  
At least his appetite was back and chewing he smiled up to her. »Your cake tastes like heaven, dear.«  
Rosmerta stroked over his head, then she sat down on the chair next to him. Almost shy she asked: »Will you stay for the night?«  
Albus sighed and swallowed. »It depends, Rosmerta,« he said, looking not in her eyes, but - now again not hungry anymore - to the rest of the cake on the desk. »I've got to tell you something and I'm not sure if you'll want me to stay afterwards.«  
»Oh, oh,« made the woman. »Let me guess: You couldn't resist the urge to throttle our dear minister? And now the aurors are all after you because they want to make you the new minister of magic and so you're here to hide in my bed?«  
Albus laughed. »Hiding in your bed actually sounds tempting - but no, I didn't throttle Fudge yet. Perhaps one day I will.«  
»Get in line then, dearie,« Rosmerta gave back dryly. »But prepare yourself for not standing much of a chance - there's already a long queue in front of you.« She became serious, her dark eyes suddenly glimmering with hardly suppressed rage. »This afternoon I was afraid your students would float the place. Three victims of this bloody marriage law sat on the bar, crying their eyes out, the poor kids.«  
Albus sighed again and pushed the dish with the chocolate cake finally beside. Quietly he said: »I hope none of them was Hermione Granger - though I'd understand if she'd opened the floodgates.«  
»The Granger girl is a victim too? Oh my ...« Rosmerta trio lao lay her head against Albus' shoulder, but he bend forward to the fire, poking it almost furiously.  
After a long moment of silent he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice not more then a whisper: »You're a member of the order, so you'd learn the news at our next meeting. Yet I reckon I owe you to hear it first in private. In nine days time Hermione Granger will become my wife.«  
»What?« Rosmerta's eyes became as big as saucers. »You will marry the Granger girl?« She swallowed hard, then she rose her hands. »Wait, wait - say nothing. I must first stomach that.«  
»Rosmerta ...« Albus tried.  
»Be quiet!« she begged, laying a finger over his mouth. »I know you, Albus Dumbledore - and I trust you. You don't do that because you're one of this lecherous old men who want for young meat. You must do it, mustn't you?«  
»It's the only way we can save her ...« he said, his head down, his eyes resting on his hands which laid motionless and pale in his lap. »Let me tell you the entire tale, Rosmerta ...«  
Once again the woman silenced him with her finger. »No, Albus.« She rose, stepped in front of him, went down to her knees and looked up to him. »I can see it in your eyes. I know how you feel about.« She hesitated for a few seconds, her dark brown eyes connected with his blue gaze. »Oh, Albus ...« Slowly she took his hand, laid it on her cheek and breathed deeply, then she kissed the tip of his fingers, rose again and sat gently down in his lap. »Just kiss me, Albus - and stay with me this night. It will the our last one and I want us to ...« Her voice broke, but bravely she swallowed and whispered: »A wise man told me once one shouldn't whine for what one can't have, but enjoy too the fullest what life offers us. I'd like to enjoy this wise man's kisses and his embrace once again too the fullest for a last time.« Her lips found his and while he closed his eyes and lost himself in her tenderness, he tasted the salt of a teYet Yet her fingers, stroking and combing his hair, didn't tremble and her body, soft and inviting against his, seemed to long for his touch. Even if he would have wanted to he wouldn't have been able to refuse her. He needed to touch her, to keep her, to feel her with all his senses so much as she longed for him.  
Rosmerta deepened the kiss, her tongue teasing his lips, searching and playing. Bot her hands kept his head now, gently, with the caution they'd held a precious goblet with, making him felt adored and desired. Her wanted to give her such a feeling too, so he let the fingers of his left hand wander to her breast, cupping it and drinking in the soft warmth and the firmness of it. Rosmerta seemed to like what he did - she ached her back for getting more contact with his hand and sighed a little, throaty whimper in his mouth. Albus smiled - since the first time he'd kissed her, he'd loved the way she reacted to him. Even inng yng years as the needs of his body had been so strong, he'd sometimes needed all his self-discipline to keep them in by, he'd always loved nothing better as to feel desired by a woman. And as he became older and his passion more a matter of wanting then of needing, he'd learned that to him the strongest of all aphrodisiacs - magical or muggle, ancient or modern - was a woman lusting for his touch. Knowing himself as well as he did, he knew also, that one of the reasons he liked Rosmerta so much was her responsiveness to his touch - and her frankness in showing it to him, so as now, as she broke the kiss and said: »Take me to bed, Albus - now.«  
»With the greatest pleasure!« he answered, shove one arm one her knees and - with the other bracing her back - rose up. Rosmerta wasn't as light as a feather, but he was still strong enough to carry her over the four steps distance to the bed - and he loved to do so because he always got a sweet chuckle and »Hmm - I love strong men« from her.  
Seating her gently down on the bed, he said smiling: »You're boasting my ego, Rosmerta. Severus wouldn't like that. He's convinced it lrealready much too big.«  
»Sometimes,« Rosmerta answered, stretching like a cat, »Severus is an ass.«  
»Sometimes?« Albus laughed and sat down on the bed, taking Rosmerta's ankle in his hand, stroking from there upwards to her knee. »Most people think he's all the time not only an ass, but a bastard too.« He kissed her knee lightly.  
Rosmerta sighed. Bracing herself on one elbow, she used her free hand to play with her lover's hair. »Dear Albus - you know I appreciate how much you care even for your mostly insufferable potion master, but in the moment I think you could use this mouth of yours for better things as for talking about Hogwarts resident pain in the ass, don't you think?«  
»My mouth and I are entirely at your service, ma'm,« Albus answered, pushing her robe aside and kissing upwards until he reached her garter. As he lightly bit the soft, naked flesh over it, he got another throaty chuckle as a reward. Another little bit, a kiss, his hand followed his mouth, stroking and warming her. »You know,« he said, »you smell even better as your chocolate ...«  
»Flattery will get you everywhere, Albus.« Rosmerta's small hand were now tucking at his heavy robe. »But you'd get there sooner if you'd remove this robe of yours.«  
»Perhaps ...,« Albus said, laying his forehead on her tight while one of his long, practised fingers played with the hem of the flimsy garment she was wearing, »I like where I just am. I'm not in a hurry, you know.«  
»And if I were?« Rosmerta managed to push her hand in his collar, feeling soft skin underneath.  
»The I'd - of course - speed up.« Albus rose his head and looked in her eyes. »Are you in a hurry, dearest?«  
»Yes, I am, Albus Dumbledore.« Rosmerta stretched, craning her breasts with it and so he could see her nipples pushing proud and erect against the soft fabric of her robe. »I want to feel not only your mouth and your hands, but your skin and your cock too. Now!«  
Albus breathed deeply. »You know, what you're doing to me?« he asked, raising.  
»'course.« Rosmerta grinned. »Therefore I do it!«  
He was already aroused by kissing and touching her, but now, hearing her and looking in her dark eyes, filled with desire, he felt how the blood rushed to his groin, how his already half-erect, heavy member began to arise and the beating of his old heart quickened. His finger trembled as he pulled his wand - 12,5 inch, birch with a unicorn's hair, silvery-white with age and using - out of his sleeve. But before he could use it, he felt his clothes disappear - Rosmerta hat been quicker as he and laid now in all her womanly, naked glory on the bed, cheerfully playing with her wand and grinning.  
»Hmm!« she giggled. »I've made a mistake. Years before I should have told Rita Skeeter - in confidence of course - that seducing you isn't only fun because you're a great lover, but because it gives a witch the biggest ego-boast thinkable: For once being quicker in doing magic as Albus Dumbledore himself. If I'd told Skeeter, it'd surely made headlines in the Daily Prophet - and the next weeks Hogwarts would have been stormed by thousand of witches. At least 75 % of them would have wished for a drink before making a pass on you, so I could have doubled my earnings.«  
Albus had laid down next to her, taking her in his arms and kissing the tip of her nose, before he said amused: »Quadroubled, dearest. The disappointment they'd have been in for had made for a few drinks more.«  
»Disappointment?« Rosmerta's hand glided over his chest and his soft, round bell, found his stiff cock and closed around it. »This I don't find disappointing. On the contrary.«  
This time it was him who whimpered softly. For a moment he closed his eyes, enjoying her expert grip and the sensations her stroking fingers sent through his body. Yet there was something he wanted to do before he concentrated entirely on her and so he rose his wand. A soft incantation, a flick and his long hair found together in a neatly pony-tail, kept by a small leather ribbon. Another flick and his beard shortened until it only surrounded his chin. Then Albus laid his wand on the night stand and turned to Rosmerta who chuckled amused.  
»I've always wondered why you need a wand for this,« she said. »You're doing much more complicated magic without it, so why the wand now?«  
»Wandless magic needs a certain amount of concentration,« he answered, stroking her breast. »I wouldn't want to mess around with it - especially not close to my head - when you're distracting me like that!«  
»Hmm - I like that!« Rosmerta snuggled closer to himesidesides I like to be in this little secret of yours. You know, the other day I've overheard a conversation between your female colleagues - Minerva, Dee Sprout, Poppy Pomfrey and Irma Pince. They were gossiping a bit - speculating about your bedroom manners and the question they were most interested in was what you do with all this hair of yours when you make love to a woman.«  
»They'll never learn!« Albus laughed, kissing her forehead. »It will remain a secret I share with you exclusively.« He didn't give her time for an answer, but searched her mouth with his, nibbling tenderly on her lips and finally deepening the kiss.

****

A soft murmuring, a tender nibble on his ear - it didn't neuch uch more to wake Albus up. »Pssst, Fawkes!« he whispered, opening his blue eand and stroking softly over the bird's head. The phoenix made a sound almost like purring, then he spread his wings and sailed to the chair where his wizard's robe laid. With one crawl he took them and flight back to the bed where Albus already sat, looking to the still sleeping Rosmerta. She looked peaceful and relaxed, a little smile playing around her mouth. Fawkes let the robe drop in Albus' lap and hopped then to the window, looking longingly at the still dark landscape.  
Albus sighed, turned around and bent down to the sleeping woman, kissing her forehead tenderly. For a moment he fought against the temptation to crawl back under the warm blanket, but then he braced himself, stretched and rose up. One flick of his index finger did a quick cleaning charm, the next took care of his full bladder and the morning erection - not so strong as in young years, but, as Rosmerta a few weeks had stated, still »pretty useful«. Another flick made the robe settle on its owner's body and then next one grew the beard back to his usual length and made the ribbon in his hair disappear. Once again the imposing figure his students and colleagues were used to see as their headmaster, Albus took his wand from the night stand, pushed it in his sleeve, went to the table in front of the fire and put his spectacles back on his nose. A least look to the room and the sleeping woman - no, there wasn't anything left he could write or tell her. He was sure, she'd understand his quiet departure - probably it even made it easier for her too. Yet for him it was harder as he'd expected. For once his pragmatism didn't help him. He remembered his mother always saying »What can't be cured, must be endured« and actually he'd thought himself pretty hard-boiled and therefore good in enduring by now, but this leave hurt deeply.  
Fawkes made a thrilling sound and flight through the room, landing on his human's shoulder. Albus sighed again. »Yes, Fawkes, I know,« he whispered. »We have to go.« Fawkes looked to the fireplace, Albus' glance followed the bird's eyes, but in a spontaneous idea he shook his head. »No, Fawkes. I need a little fresh air too.« The bird jumped in delight and Albus smiled. It was only a few weeks since Fawkes' last burning day what meant: The phoenix, though centuries older as his wizard, had got a new body once again - a youthful, strong body which liked to fly, to play and to hunt. So a flight in the dawn would give Fawkes an opportunity to stretch his wings, perhaps he could even get himself a mouse for breakfast.  
Rosmerta stirred in her sleep. Albus waited a moment, watching her, but no, she didn't wake up. Silently he left the room, sad in the knowledge that he was never to come back. Rosmerta and he would like and see each other in the future, but they'd never make love to each other as they'd done in this last night. Stepping up the stairs and going through the pub's hall to the entrance door, Albus felt as if this last night would have been his swan song. The sound of the closing door was the last to it and as Albus walked outside, snow cracking under this dragon leather boots, he allowed himself a thought so sarcastic his potion master would have liked it: »Exit Albus, the lover - entrance Dumbledore, the husband.« From now on no women would want him anymore, he'd never hear sweet words of seduction again, he'd never feel desired and wanted again. And he didn't know how to cope with noticing, that this wasn't something he could get himself with one push over it. Of course, he was aware that the war had already and would certainly in future demand much bigger sacrifices as what he - for a moment bitterly and angry with himself - named »an old fool's petty desire«. He'd certainly not wail in self-pity about it. But he was damned if he were to allow Voldemort - or Tom Riddle how Albus still thought of his former pupil - go on with his way of destructing everything what made life worth living. Walking away from Rosmerta's house and bed, wandering through the icy cold of the dawning winter morning, Albus Dumbledore felt as if he'd just heard the gong, saying »Last round in the fight Riddle versus Dumbledore.« And for one thing Albus was sure: This time Tom Riddle wouldn't get away. This time he dark lord wouldn't escape - neither in the flesh nor in the spirit. This time Albus Dumbledore was prepared and willing to trade life against life and soul against soul. Only it wouldn't be Harry Potter who'd give his life for the destruction of Tom Riddle. It would be Albus Dumbledore himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Dawn and daze

"Huh!" Hermione Granger shook her head and looked again out of the window up to the main tower. It's gray granite form was just getting stark against the leaden winter sky and until just a few seconds before the red of the flag had been the only little colour in the dawn. But now the flag seemed to beam in brightness - Gryffindor red, Ravenclaw blue, the gold of Hufflepuff and the dark, vivid green of Slytherin shined, the animals on the crest looked as if they were alive, Slytherin's snake raising its head, the Ravenclaw raven ready to take fly and Hermione even meant she'd hear the Gryffindor lion roar. And there was something else, more colour and light, golden light, mixed with purple, playing around the flag, keeping one corner of it, presenting it to the day and Hermione recognized the purple and gold for the headmaster's phoenix and now saw the flag in it's entire glory in almost dazzling white.

"So he's back", she heard herself whisper, her eyes wandering from the flag over the grounds to the dark shadow of the forbidden forest. On the path along the trees Hermione saw a tall figure, wearing a blue robe and a matching wizard's hat, long, silver hair floatindernder it. Dumbledore was heading to the castle, but he didn't look as if he were in a hurry. For a moment he remembered Hermione on an old lion, strolling through his territory in the absolute and unquestionable knowledge of being the invincible master of his land. But then he suddenly stood still, raising his head and looking to the castle and although Hermione couldn't see his face in the distance, the gesture stroke her so hard she'd struggle for breath. The headmaster seemed to hesitate - as if he wouldn't like coming back to Hogwarts and to the task which awaited him there.

Hermione felt a tear hotly running down her check. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, sniffling by it and in the same time ranting to herself: "Stop behaving like a silly girl! It won't make anything better, you're only feeling worse by it!" Yet she couldn't help it: She hated the idea of being a burden to anyone in general. The idea of becoming one to Albus Dumbledore, the man who already carried the responsibility for Hogwarts and the Order, Hermione loathed even more. For the first time since she'd learned about the marriage law she started to think about leaving the magical world now. Hadn't Minerva talked about this being the other option? Stepping back from the window and seating down on her bed, tugging her bare feet under her, Hermione considered. Were she really and on all cost - even the cost of Dumbledore getting even more weight on his shoulders - to remain in the wizard's world? Couldn't there be another life, a life which could give her challenges and sense too? Perhaps Minerva's talking about Hermione getting a place in an Irish college had in fact meant, that her teacher and mentor wanted her to go? Nibbling at her under lip and playing with her hair, Hermione thought about. Breaking her wand, leaving this world and going back to be a muggle - perhaps it wasn't so final as she'd thought? Perhaps she could come back after the war?

"You're nuts!" Hermione said loudly, much to the amazement of Crookshanks who slept on the carpet in front of the fire. "You're entirely and wholly nuts - or mental, as Ron would say." How should be think of running away and living in security until her friends had fight during the war? That would be the coward's exit - and Hermione Granger certainly wasn't a coward. "If I go it will be for ever," she thought now and once againfeltfelt as if it were the end of the world - of her world and of the Hermione Granger she knew. Yet - there was the sight she'd just seen: s Dus Dumbledore hesitating as if he'd fear what the future - a future with Hermione at his side - held for him. "Who am I and who is he?" Hermione asked herself. The last question was simple to answer: The greatest wizard alive, the only enemy Voldemort feared. Without Dumbledore Harry and with him the entire magical world wouldn't stand a chance of winning the war. And what meant one Hermione Granger compared to this? After all: She only was a 17 year old schoolgirl.

Now Hermione really cried - not in self-pity, but in absolute perplexity. What was she supposed to do? With whom could she speak, who was there to be asked for advice? Harry and Ron, her best friends, didn't even know about the real subject Hermione and Minerva had talked about. They'd asked for it, of course, they'd done, but Hermione hadn't felt ready to talk about and so she'd lied in murmuring something about "only head girl's business, nothing to worry about". The boys had bought it, both being busy with cursing about Snape and the horrible class they'd just suffered through with him.

"Miss Hermione?" A high voice suddenly quaked. "Is Woopy to help you?"

Hermione swallowed, rose her head, whipped once again with the back of her hand tears away and tried a weak smile. "Sorry, Woopy - I didn't hear you coming."

s sos sorry for disturbing Miss Hermione," the house elve looked apologizing, but in contrast to the others of her kind certainly not as if she'd start punishing herself. Instead she gave Hermione a little roll of parchment, bowed and disappeared with a "pop".

Hermione enrolled the parchment and saw an elegant handwriting in green ink on it. It said: "Dear Hermione, would you kindly join me for tea at 3:00 p.m.? I'll send Woopy to collect you in your chamber then. Yours ..." a sweeping squiggle.

Hermione was puzzled. She'd never seen this handwriting before and who was it to invite her in such a strange manner? She looked closer to the squiggle and then it dawned: The first letter - this was an "A", wasn't it? And the next one - with a bit of good will one could take it for a "l" or even "lb". So it was "Albus" then - Albus as in Albus Dumbledore and it probably meant, that this invitation was meant "private" - private as in "matters of matrimony". Only Hermione was afraid she'd never come in use - or even at ease - with thinking of the headmaster as her husband or call him "Albus". This was so out of the question with having a girl's talk with Minerva McGonagall, wasn't it?

*****

When later asked for this day Hermione always said she wouldn't remember anymore how she had made it during the classes. She only knew, that it have been very strange indeed, seating there as if nothing had happened, as if she'd still were a normal schoolgirl with the upcoming exams as the only problem. Yet on this cold winter day Hermione Granger, Hogwarts top student, bookworm extra ordinaire and always only panicking when in fear of messing up an exam, suddenly discovered that she didn't care about her NEWTs anymore. Instead she felt as if she'd became finally adult in only one night - if only her stomach wouldn't cramp and her mouth fall dry every time she thought of the little note in her pocket!

And there was a lot of time to think about, because for the first hours of the morning the time seemed to have speed down. Breakfast had been an endless affair with Harry and Ron talking quidditch all the time and not noticing that Hermione only mumbled on a piece of toast. All minute she'd looked up to the great table at the upper end of the hall, not sure if she'd hope or fear for the headmaster's entrance. Yet his glorious golden chair stood deserted - Albus Dumbledore once again didn't appear to breakfast. Nevertheless Hermione couldn't get over the odd feeling of being watched. Every time she tried to steal a look on the head table, she'd met eyes watching her - the green eyes of Professor McGonagall, looking worried and sad; the black eyes of the potion master, unreadable and distant; the brown eyes of Professor Sinistra, looking warm and friendly; the blue eyes of Professor Vector, neutral and a bit cool; the yellow eyes of Fly Inspector Hootch, looking - curious? Hermione wasn't sure - neither about being watched nor about the curiosity. The teachers couldn't already know, could they? Of course, Minerva McGonagall and Snape were informed, bot being members of the Order, but Madame Hootch and the others? What would they think about Hermione? How would they treat her if she really was to become their headmaster's lawfully weeded wife? Hermione couldn't imagine.

The day went on - but even after lunch - without the headmaster and Minerva McGonagall - and the herbology class Hermione didn't have the slightest glue what she'd tell the headmaster. But now time seemed to run. Hermione suddenly felt herself lying again to her friends - something about homework and seeing them later - and then she sprinted to her room ryffryffindor tower, suddenly aware that she didn't want to wear school uniform for her appointment with the headmaster. But what else? Standing in the front of her wardrobe, she'd only knew that casual muggle style with jeans and shirt would even less do as school uniform. So she decided at last for an ankle-long brown velvet skirt with a matching shirt - an attire her mother had only a few before her death insisted to buy Hermione. She'd never wore it, but now it seemed the less wrong thing in her entire closet.

Her mirror obviously liked it, yet it advised her to use "a nice little make up charm" because she'd look a "bit pale, m'dear". Hermione resisted the childish urge to show the mirror her tongue - talking mirrors were a magical inventions she never had been fond of - but used her hair brush instead. She couldn't find it made a big effect, her head still looked bushy at always, but what would it matter? Dumbledore surely wouldn't care about her hair nor for any other feature of her.

"Plop" it made - and Woopy was there, appearing as always out of the not so blue air. "Miss Hermione," she squeaked, "I is to accompany you. If Miss Hermione would follow Woopy?"  
"Of course," Hermione answered kindly, wondering why he had sent the elve. As every Hogwarts pupil Hermione knew not only the way to the main tower, but to the gargoyle which guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office. He'd only needed to tell her the password and she could have made her way without being lead by Woopy.

Much to Hermione's surprise the house elfe didn't bring her to the gargoyle. She wandered with Hermione to the main tower, but instead of going left in the upper hall, the tiny creature went to the right side in a gallery Hermione hadn't even seen before. By walking on it she noticed that probably not only the entrance was enchanted so that it were only to be seen by people invited, but the floor was charmed too. It looked like the granite the castle was built from, but Hermione's steps weren't to hear on it and it felt as if she'd walk on a summer day in a forest - pleasantly warm, soft and even a bit springy. The smell in the gallery suited the enchanted floor - a fresh and herb-sweet smell like a meadow in the middle of a wood.

The gallery ended with a wall, covered by a painting of a man in baroque costume, seating in front of a piano - or was it a hapsichord? Hermione didn't know, but expected the musician to ask for a password. Yet he only smiled to her and began to play - a lovely tune, sounding silvern and cheerful like water jumping over stones. Then the wall suddenly began to glimmer and an arch formed. Hermione heard a "pop" through the music - Woopy was gone, without saying a word. This could only mean Hermione was supposed to step through the arch and so - after a deep breath - she did and found herself on a small stair chase which spiraled upwards. Hermione smiled - this was at least something she was already familiar with from her visit in the headmaster's office. Only the journey upwards lasted longer as Hermione expected and so she was a bit dizzy as the stairs finally stopped in a little ante chambre in which only a huge mirror stood. Hermione saw herself in it, but only for a little moment, then the mirror vanished and in it's place Hermione saw the headmaster, wearing a simple, but nevertheless elegant robe from dark green velvet, only the collar and the hems of the sleeves decorated with golden embroidered green silk. He smiled, but his blue eyes behind the halfmoon-spectacles didn't twinkle and his voice sounded even hoarser then usual as he took her hand and greeted her: "Miss Granger."

Hermione was grateful for this formality - she'd feared he'd start with their conversation on a more casual manner and wouldn't had know how to react on it. Now it was easier - she only had to bow her head lightly, saying: "Headmaster ..."

He steeped aside and with an inviting move of his hand he said: "Please, come in."

Hermione followed him over the threshold and almost forgot to breath by the sight welcoming her. The room she was now in seemed to be as if it would have been just made for her. Two of it high walls were covered with shelves full of books and on the first sight Hermione could already see that this wasn't only a collection of rare and precious magical books, but of classic muggle literature too. Hermione had to stop herself for running to the shelves, stroking witr har hands over the leather backs and learning about all treasures within.

In front of the bookshelves stood chairs - little groups of them, each with a nice desk, the chairs itself upholstered in blue und golden broquade, just right for a long and cosy seat down with a good book.

On the third wall of the room was a huge fireplace in which a mighty fire burned, in front of it stood a blue and a golden sofa and a table already set for tea. Yet it was the fourth wall which took Hermione's breath finally away - because it wasn't a wall, but a huge window, looking over the roofs of Hogwarts and the great lake out to the mountains. Hermione, who never had cared for riding a broom, suddenly understood why Harry loved flying so much - if it gave one sights like this it surely was worth the freezing. Hermione simply couldn't resist - she walked closer to the window, drinking in the sight

"You like what you see?" Albus asked, sounding amused.

Hermione couldn't get her eyes away from the glory in front of her. "I've always knew Hogwarts is beautiful," she said, "but this is simply ..." She couldn't find the right word.

"Amazing?" Albus tried to help out.

"More!" Hermione said, turning her head and trying to see the greenhouses on the left corner of the window. Suddenly the sight moved, the greenhouses were now exactly in front of Hermione who jumped in surprise, bumbling almost in Albus who stood behind her. "Sorry, Professor Dumbledore," she stammered.

"I have to apologize," he said calmly. "I should have told you that the room is moving. It turns around 360̊ over the day - normally. But if one of its inhabitants whishes to see in a certain direction, the room moves immediately. Like that ..." Now the sight changed again, this time to the other direction, showing Hermione Gryffindor tower and the quidditch pitch behind it.

"I've never heard of such a charm!" she said and even somebody less attentive as Albus Dumbledore would have noticed by the sound of it, that Hermione Granger didn't like too much coming around a charm she hadn't the slightest glue about.

Albus chuckled. "You can't have," he said then. "The charm is an invention of Professor Snape and myself. We sometimes spend a little spare time in playing around with connecting legilemens with charms. This was one of our more successful attempts."

"There were others?" As always, Hermione couldn't keep herself back when it came to learning.

"Oh yes." Albus laughed. "Once I persuaded Professor Snape to try a charm-legilemens connectio myo my wardrobe. I wanted it to get me the robes I wanted to wear in the morning. It worked in the evening as we tried - so fine Severus cast it later on his and Professor Sprout's wardrobe too. By this something went wrong and so the next morning I found myself from head to toe in black - I even wore black trousers though I really never cared for something so restricting as trousers. Professor Sprout appeared to breakfast in red and silver - much to the irritation of her Hufflepuffs. Yet Severus didn't appear at all - but the Bloody Baron told me he'd blushed and fled for the language Severus was using while he was not only busy in taking the pink and violet flowered robe, but the charm on his wardrobe off."

Hermione joined Albus in laughter, grateful for his attempt to lose her a bit. But obviously he was as much aware as she that she wasn't in this beautiful room for a pleasant chat. Becoming serious again he said: "Under the given circumstances I thoughu'd u'd like to see my quarters. Shall I give you the grand tour?"

Now it was for Hermione to blush and to sank her head, studying the tips of her shoes as if she'd find there the proper answer to his question. Her inborn curiosity longed to see more, but her manners forbad her - who was she to make him show her around as if she'd were to become somebody living her too? He didn't want her t in in his rooms, he surely felt just now as if somebody would invade his privacy and she was sure, he'd only invited her because he wanted to make "the entire abysmal affair" - as Professor McGonagall had named it - easier for her.  
"Hermione?"

Was it the first time he'd said her given name? Hermione wasn't sure, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and rose her head, finally brave enough to look in his eyes. "Yes, sir?"  
Albus sighed. "I know," he started, "this is very hard and difficult for you, child. But you aren't alone in this, Hermione. I'm with you and I give you my word of honour: I do what ever is in my might to make it at least as bearable as possible for you."

Hermione again sank her head and looked to the floor. Her voice didn't want to obey to her, but after an energetic clearing of her throat she managed to say: "I actually think it's better I leave. Professor McGonagall said, you could perhaps help me to get a place on an Irish college, sir ..."

"Oh." Albusbledbledore stepped away from her to the fireplace, turning his back to her he said: "If this is your wish I will of course help you. I will need a day or two, but then the arrangements can be made ..."

"Thank you, sir - for everything." Hermione whispered. Tears run over her cheeks and suddenly the room didn't seem so warm and cosy anymore. Even the cracking of the fire, now the only sound, didn't seem to be able to drive the chill awayrmiormione shuddered and slung her arms around her body. "Headmaster," she suddenly heard herself saying, "I never wanted to disappoint you."

Albus didn't turn. He looked in the fire, silently. After a time which seemed endless to Hermione, he said firmly: "You don't disappoint me, child. I fully understand that the idea of a marriage with an old man like me is appealing to you. It's only natural - youth calls for youth ..."

"But headmaster!" Hermione cried, blushing by it because she interrupted him.

"Yes, child?" Now at last he turned, watching her out of tired, old eyes.

"It is not that I would feel appealed by the idea," said Hermione, just remembering her old trademark saying: "If you can't trust Dumbledore, who can you trust". To think of it calmed her to a security she'd never thought herself possible of in front of this man. "I only couldn't stand the thought that you'd feel appealed by having me around you, in your private quarters day and ..." Oops, no, the word "night" she couldn't speak, even not when feeling so much more confident now. Slightly blushing, she started again: "I mean, you've got a lot of your plate already - the school, the order, the ministry. Who am I to become another burden to you? We're in a war, you're the leader and you'll need all your strength ..."

Albus smiled a little smile - but it was already enough to drive the chill in Hermione's body away. "Well and right spoken, Hermione," he said. "We're in a war and I'll need all my strength. But aren't you and your friends, my most talented, bright and courageous pupils, not an important part of my strength? Dumbledore's Army - and what's a leader without his army? It's you and your friends who give me not only a reason to fight, but the energy to do so. I grab it from you in handfuls, I get from you courage and brightness and hope. Without you I couldn't stand against the enemy because without you my reasons to fight would be only academic, dry and papered. It's the hopes and the d see in your eyes every time I look at you, it's your future what makes me want to win and therefore I don't want you to go, Hermione. If you're able to bear with me for the time until the final battle, then please stay - and marry me."

Hermione whipped the last tear away, then she arched her back and looked seriously in Albus' eyes. "I will," she said, "and whatever happens to us in this war - I will not 'bear' being married to you. I will be proud of it."

"So will I, Hermione," Albus said and with a gracious courtesy he took her hand, bowed over it and kissed it lightly.

Hermione felt his lips on her skin - dry and bit raw - and once again she smelled the fragrance which was so entirely the headmaster - lemon drops and herb lavender. The idea of becoming close to him, of sharing his privacy - it suddenly became - no, not something to look forward to, but something she was sure she could do. And this new security made her smile - for the first time since she'd entered his chambers.

"So we're engaged," she said shyly.

"Yes, we are - which reminds me ..." He took a dark blue box from the mantlepiece, opened and pulled a ring out. "May I?" he asked, again taking Hermione's hand. "This ...," he explained, while getting the white golden band which kept a white opal, surrounded by 12 glittering diamonds on her finger, " is my mother's engagement ring. It's perhaps a bit old-fashioned, but so am Isidesides you'd probably like the charm my father cast on it. I changed it a bit for suiting us ..."

Hermione looked with huge eyes on the ring. The diamonds seemed to mirror the fire, but she found the shimmering of the opal even more fascinating. Silver, rose and blue sparkles sprang from it, looking as if the stone were something alive. The ring fitted her finger perfectly and the band was pleasantly warm against her skin. And there was something more - Hermione meant to feel magic in the ring. "Thank you," she said. "It's beautiful and I adore it. But what kind of magic does it keep?"

Albus laughed. "Nothing unusual," he answered. "It's only a kind of portkey charm. If you'd lose the ring or if it were taken from you, it would come back to me." He smiled warmly. "My mother used this charm sometimes for getting my father's attention. If he was for too long a time too deep in one of his experiments, mother used to throw the ring away. In appearing on my father's hand it told him then that she felt neglected."

"I don't think, I could ever throw it away!" Hermione laid her right hand protectively over the ring.

Albus became serious again. "I hope you will not. But if you ever need me - just use the ring." Once again he changed his expression to a smile. "On a lighter note: would you now care to see the other rooms? I spent a little time rambling around and rearranging the upper part of the apartment for getting you a bit of privacy. But not knowing your taste in furniture and decoration your new study may still need a bit of work."

"I'd love to see it," Hermione said - and this time she really meant it.

Albus went to one of the bookshelfs and tipped with his index finger against a rose in the carved panel. The shelf glided aside and opened to a wooden stair chase. Hermione followed Albus upwards until they reached a landing with another mirror. Albus simply stepped through it, Hermione on his heels.

"That's our private dining-room," Albus said with a gesture to a big round table with 12 chairs which stood in the middle of a bright room. The chairs were upholstered in creamy brocade, the same fabric covered the walls. On each wall a french door opened the sight to a balcony, running round the tower.

Albus didn't give Hermione much time to look around. "I don't care much for meals in solitude, therefore the dining room was never much used by me," he said and went ady ady back through the mirror and he she stairs. This time Hermione came with him to a landing with two plain wooden doors. Albus smiled a bit awkward. "I haven't had time to charm the doors. Besides I'd thought you'd perhaps like to do it yourself." He opened the first door and led Hermione in a room with a fire place and an oriel, looking out to the lake. In it stood, just fitting from wall to wall, a big desk with a comfortable chair in front of it.

But what Hermione liked most in the room were once again the book shelves on the wall opposite the fireplace. They were already half-filled and she went there, curiously looking to the tiles of the books. She couldn't almost believe what she saw there: Almost all her favourites from the library were there, starting with "Ars Alchemia", going over "Charms for the advanced wizards" and "Moste potente potions" to "The zest for magical knowledge."

"All for myself?" Hermione wondered aloud, looking like a child under the christmas tree.

"Yes, I think so. It's your study, isn't it?" Albus seemed amused.

"How did you do that? This are all my favourites!" Hermione tenderly stroked the backs of the books. "How did you know?"

"In this case omniscience was quite simple. I only had to ask Madame Pince for a list."

Hermione felt very moved by Albus' thoughtfulness and had once again to swallow on something in her throat. "Thank you very much, sir," she managed finally.

"Albus," her corrected her. "I think you should start to come in use with my given name."

"Ouuh ..." Hermione made. "This will ..."

"...need some time?" he finished for her.

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Hermione looked around, avoiding his eyes. The sofa in front of the fire place - creamy white - and the two matching chairs looked nice, but perhaps a bit pale ...

Albus had followed her glance. "I thought you may like to make the colouring yourself," he said.

"Actually cream is nice, but - I've got a cat and he likes to sleep in my room," explained Hermione, pulling her wand out of her sleeve. "May I?"

"Of course - it's your room after all." Albus waited patiently until Hermione had changed sofa and chairs to black leather.

"Hmm ..." she made, not entirely satisfied with it. "I've always wanted something like a Chesterfield, but they're hard to do ..."

"May I help out?" Albus offered.

"I'd be delighted," Hermione ed aed and watched in awe, how he - with a simple wave of his hand - changed the furniture again. Not it was just as she'd wished it: A rich, chocolate brown, cosily upholstered. She clapped happily. "That's wonderful!"

"Hmm." Now Albus wasn't entirely satisfied. "Don't you think it's a bit austere? How about that?" Another wave of his hand - a few red pillows appeared on the sofas, a red carpet covered the floor in front of the fire place. "Hmm ..." murmured Albus once again. "Now it looike ike Minerva's living room .." It didn't sound as if he were a big fan of Minerva McGonagall as interior designer.

"Perhaps ..." Hermione liked decorating, so she raised her wand now and murmured an incantation. The pillows and the carpet jumped - and changed their colour to a rich honey ton.

"That's nice!" Albus praised and sat down on one of the chairs. "Shall we have our tea here?"

"I'd like that." Hermione said and sank on the sofa.

Albus waved once again, the table in front of the fire filled with china, silver pots and dishes with stones, crumpets and cakes. "Considered that we're in your room - would you purr tea?" he asked.

Hermione nodded and purred tea in a cup. "Sugar? Cream?" she asked.

"Three lumps of sugar, a lot of cream please." Albus answered.

Hermione obeyed with a smile, gave him the cup and purred herself one, watching under half-closed lids how he drank a sip and leaned back, stretching his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. He looked entirely at ease, as if he'd all time of the world for cosily drinking tea, but Hermione felt nevertheless a certain tension approaching.

And then the headmaster began to speak again. "Before I did this room I've had a conversation with Augustus McGonagall - Professor McGonagall's husband." Hermione hadn't knew that her favourite teacher was married, so she looked pretty amazed. Albus smiled, drank another sip from his cup and put the china back on the table. Laying the tips of his long fingers together and looking to Hermione over the rim of his spectacles, he continued: "Augustus isn't only an old and trustworthy friend of mine, but a member of the wizengamot and one of the less real good lawyers our world is possessing. So I asked him for studying the marriage law and giving me his professional advice. He did .. "Albus used one finger for pushing his glasses up on his crooked nose. "Augustus thinks we shouldn't wait until your 18. birthday. His words were exactly: 'The sooner you've got the wedding done, the smaller the chance for Lucius Malfoy to prevent it.'" His voice sounded calm and distant, almost as if he'd discuss normal school business. "You know how a binding is done in the magical world?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head, a bit awkward. Being muggle-born she'd never seen a binding before and with wishing for a future as a scholar she'd never had a reason to look it up.

Albus nodded, his blue eyes grave. "Then let me explain. The law for normal wizard bindings demands not much more as both parties involved at least 16 years old - a condition we fulfill easily - and that at least one of them owns a home fit for a couple to live in. This I do. With the conditions fulfilled, the couple needs a qualified sorcerer - for example a member of the wizengamot - and two witnesses to perform the binding charm. After the couple consumes the marriage an entry appears magically in the ministry's register - with that the marriage is sealed and neither the involved witch nor the wizard are available for a marriage under the new law anymore. Admittedly there's one thing in which the new law still gets an influence on couples married under the old one: If some one doubts this marriage is meant as such, the ministry can claim that the couple must perform their marital duties after the standards of the new law."

"But in our case ..." Hermione nibbled on her under lip, thoughtfully, "I mean if Lucius Malfoy doubts our marriage, we aren't worse as if we'd marry under the new law - right?"

"Indeed." Albus nodded. "And a wedding before your 18. birthday would even give us the advantage of surprise."

Hermione was fully aware how grave the situation was, but she was still a 17 year old and so she couldn't resist giggling - she just imagined Lucius Malfoy's face when he learned that his cunning and scheming didn't get him anywhere. But - there was one problem except of the "consuming the marriage"-matter of which Hermione still refused to think.

"But, Head ..." she stopped and corrected herself, "Albus, there's one problem: If were marry before we get Malfoy's offer, he'd know that his plan was betrayed. Wouldn't it endanger Professor Snape?"

"No, it wouldn't." Now it was for Albus to grin. "The blame will stay with the Malfoy family. Young master Malfoy was stupid enough to celebrate his one-sided engagement already and by doing so he boasted around in the Slytherin common room that his father would give him - I spare you the entire quote in all it's gory deta The The important thing about was: Young Malfoy's announcements weren't only heard by his Slytherin housemates, but by an house elve too. So Professor Snape will have the honour to inform Mister Malfoy senior not only about certain rumours concerning you and me, but about where the loyality of Hogwarts house elves reside."

"Oh, oh!" Hermione chuckled. "Mister Malfoy won't like that."

"For this I'm certain." Albus confirmed. "What leads us right in the middle of the matter: When, you think, will you be ready to perform the binding?"

Hermione swallowed. She'd thought she'd still eight days left and this had looked like half an eternity to her - or at least like enough time to come in use with the thought. But now her time obviously was running out. She braced herself, tried a brave smile and said: "I'll be ready when you are."

"Good girl!" Albus pulled on a golden chain at his robe and looked to his wizard's watch. "What about tomorrow at this time? This evening I can't - I have to go to a gathering in the ministry. Trow row in the morning I'd be to oversee an auror's examination - I think I'll be back at two o' clock p.m. - just right for lunch, a little change of dress and a nice wedding."

Hermione appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood up, but felt nevertheless a flattering in her stomach. Although she'd never joined in when the other girls in her dormitory had dwelled on their dreams about the meringue wedding they once wanted to have, she'd never thought she'd get hers so business-like as a task to be done just between class and dinner. And she suddenly saw a vision of herself, coming a bit late to dinner in the great hall and Ron asking: "He - where you've been all afternoon?" What would she get in answering: "Oh, I've only just married the headmaster - and could you please handle me the potatoes, Harry?" If this weren't enough to make her friends and house mates fall under the table, she could perhaps add: "And by the way, I'm afraid I can't help you with your potions essay this evening. I'll have to consummate the marriage, you know? And no, Lavender, Padma - I won't tell you in the morning what he does with his hair! I probably won't know because I surely won't dare to open my eyes to look at him!"

"Hermione?" Albus' voice interrupted her vision. "Do you need more time?"

"No, sir - Albus." Hermione shook her head with so much energy, that her bushy hair floated all over her face. Shoving a strand aside, she tried so smile. "I'll be there."

"Good. Then to the question where you'll be - I thought of the room of requirement. Any objections?"

Hermione once again shook her head, this time with less force.

"Good," Albus repeated. "The sorcerer performing will be Augustus McGonagall. Whom do you want as your witness?"

Hermione couldn't think of anybody else as "Professor McGonagall" as she said loudly.

This time she didn't get a "good", but a raised eye brow. "I thought you'd like your friends at your side."

"Oh, ah ..." Hermione stammered. She hadn't thought of Harry and Ron. To her it still felt as if this marriage was something she'd to do on her own. Besides: She couldn't get the two of them for holding her hand during the "consummation", could she?

"If you want me to inform the two of them, I'll gladly oblige," offered Albus now.

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary, sir - ah, Albus," Hermione murmured. Actually she thought: "Better not!" Considered Ron's glorious talent for always finding the most tactless thing to say Hermione really didn't like the headmaster telling him. And besides: It didn't seemed to her that starting her marriage with letting him do all her dirty deeds would do any good. Ron and Harry were her friends. Therefore she had to tell them. Period.

Just as she got her third "good" from Albus, something began to chirp. Albus wrinkled his forehead and pulled this time a silvern chain out of his robe. A tine glass globe was attached to it. "Just a moment," Albus said and laid the globe in his palm where it swelled until it was almost as big as a coconut. In the same time it filled with blue mist. Albus looked in the mist and sighed. "Minister Fudge and the inevitable Mister Percy Weasley are just climbing up to the castle." He rose. "I actually had it coming." With a weary smile to Hermione he said: "I'm sorry, but I should be going. Will you find your way back to Gryffindor tower or shall I call Woopy?"

"Of course, hea... sir ... Albus." Hermione hose ose too and already walked with him to the door.

"Good girl!" Albus opened the door for her. "The minister's timing really couldn't be worse," he said by standing on the landing.

"Actually we're through for today, aren't we?" Hermione answered. Still she disliked the idea of becoming a burden for the obviously busy man in front of her.

"I don't think so - I know a big deal of things I'd like to talk with you about," he sighed. "But - as my mother used to say: What can't be cured, must be endured. I wonder how she know about minister Fudge, him being born 60 years after her death." He took Hermione's hand and once again his blue eyes dived in her brown. "You're a very brave and intelligent young witch. I'm sure the two of us will find a way to get along for the time we have to. I'll do my best ..." He slightly bent his head, his blue eyes twinkled and suddenly he looked like the boy he was ages ago, "... and me doing my best means something."

Probably it was his sudden boyishness which gave Hermione courage. Without thinking about, she rose on her tiptoes, laid one hand lightly on his shoulder and kissed his wrinkled cheek. "Thank you, Albus," she said and this time she didn't stumble by using his given name. "Thank you for everything."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: To wed or not to wed isn't a question

Everything felt like farewell, Hermione thought as she made back her way from dinner to her room. She had been late for the meal and so it had almost been as in her little vision only that she'd answered Ron's "Where you've been" with a question herself: "Harry, Ron - could you come to my room later? I've something to tell you." Ron, not exactly Mister Sensitivity 2006, first hadn't reckoned that the matter was serious. He'd babbled about the f****** potion essay he'd to write - but then he'd at least noticed Hermione didn't lecture him about his language and he'd seen Harry's gaze, grave and seriously laying on Hermione's.

"Oh blimey!" he's said then. "It's about the ma ..."

"... tter we shouldn't discuss in public!" Harry had finished the line for him.

Afterwards the trio at in silence - if one could name Hermione and Harry only picking on their food "eating". Hermione had lost her appetite, instead of eating she'd let her eyes wander in the hall. Would she seat here again for dinner? Tomorrow at this time she'd be already Hermione Dumbledore - or could she perhaps keep her name? She didn't know - and this probably was a pretty good description of her condition in general: She did not know - not how her name would be tomorrow, not how the headmaster ("Albus!" she corrected herself for probably the 143th times) intended her to keep up with her education, not how he would or would not inform the teachers and/or students of their marriage, she didn't know how and when she'd move from Gryffindor tower to the main tower and she even wasn't entirely sure what would become to her headgirl-badge. The year before as she'd got it she'd been very proud of it. But certainly she wasn't to keep it as the headmaster's wife - it would smell like nepotism. So as she now polished it - as she'd done a thousand times before - it felt like another farewell.

Now, by arriving in her chamber, she got the next. Looking around she knew, she'd only sleep one night more in this bed. And what was to become from the evenings she liked to share here with Ron, Harry and a cup of hot chocolate? Probably it was farewell to them too - or could she invite the both to the study in the main tower? Another point of Hermione's "I don't know"-list - and actually not worth crying about, but she couldn't stop the tears now.

*****

"Actually," Hermione told her cat, meowing around her feet, "it wasn't so bad." She stood in her pyjamas at the window in her room, but this time she couldn't see the main tower. The night had fallen, he main tower lay entirely in the dark, not a single gloom made it even possible to see the gray form in the stormy darkness. Hermione actually felt very tired, but her mind worked in overdrive, running through the events of the evening. As she had said: It wasn't been bad. Good, Ron first hadn't got it. He'd been pretty insulted as she'd told him that marriage with him or with one of his brothers was entirely out of question. Grumbling something like "A Weasley's obviously not good enough - okay, okay, I got it, I got it." He'd treated to leave, but Harry had stopped him, telling him "Doesn't it get in this tick head of yours, that this isn't about you, your family or your silly pride? Hermione didn't choice Dumbledore because she prefers him over you or one of your brothers!"

Admittedly Hermione had to admit - at least to herself - that this wasn't entirely true. Comparing Dumbledore's calm and the courtesy he treated her with to Ron's rambling, grumbling and nagging Hermione wasn't so sure she wouldn't have chose the old headmaster over Ron when asked - but she hadn't been asked. Instead Ron had showed once again his outstanding talent in hitting the wrong nail exactly on the head - he'd cried: "But Harry, don't you get it? Hermione will have to shag the old dodderer!"

This had lead to a row even exceptional in the row-filled history of Hermione, Harry and Ron.  
Hermione had - on the top of her lung and furious as rarely before - probably because she'd just managed to push the thought of Dumbledore as an old man away? - thundered: "Don't you ever dare to name my soon-to-be husband an 'old dodderer' again!", only spoiling the effect a bit in lecturing Ron about all dodderers being old and this being the reason why one should never use "old" and "dodderer" in one line.

Rod hadn't taken her lecture well - he'd shouted back, that he'd always knew Hermione being "mental", but he'd never before seen her as so kinky as dabbling around with necrophilia.

For this Hermione gave him a good and very loud piece of her mind - in fact so loud that even one of Molly Weasley's famous howlers would have been paled to a soft humming in comparison.

Then Harry had got enough, asking his friends with a coldness Snape would have been proud of, if they couldn't roar a bit louder. "You know, the Slytherins down in their dungeons probably couldn't understand every single word. Perhaps you should repeat the part about shagging the headmaster - I'm sure this would give them a few nice dreams!"

After this Hermione and Ron had calmed down a bit - but to Harry's dismay still not for talking sense, but for sulking and snapping. Hermione, seating on the window sill, had grumbled about "being mental" and Ron had moaned about don't feeling understood by his best friends. Harry, always the martyr between the two, had need almost one hour to get both of them back to the fireplace and to normal tone. But in the end the boys - even Ron - had promised to support Hermione and to be there by the wedding and the meeting of the trio had ended with hugs and tears by all parties involved.

So at least this was settled - but this didn't change the fact that by now Hermione felt lonely. So it was relief to hear a soft scraping at the door. Hermione, thinking that Harry had come back under his invisibility cloak, rushed to the door, opened it and whispered: "Come in!" Yet it wasn't an invisible Harry stepping over the threshold, but a pretty severe looking, gray tabby cat which, as she was in the room, stretched, grew and became Professor Minerva McGonagall who said: "Sorry for bothering you at such a late hour. But the headmaster, seeing the light in your windows, insisted. Actually he wanted to look after your himself, but I told him this wouldn't be appropriate."

Hermione couldn't resist a smile at her stern professor. To think about appropriate behaviour under such circumstances - Hermione was sure: No one except Minerva McGonagall would be able to do so. "May I offer you tea or chocolate? Or at least a chair?" Hermione asked.

"No, no, child - I won't stay long," the professor refused. "I only wanted to see if you're well and ..." She hesitated and one of her rare smiles softened her gaunt face."I wanted to say that I'm honoured - indeed, honoured and touched - by your wish to get me as your witness for the marriage." And now she took Hermione's hand and a tear shimmered in her green eyes. "You know, a teacher actually shouldn't have any favourites. But teachers are human beings too and so it sometimes happens, that we get a student who means more to us as other pupils, who becomes almost something like a beloved child to one. Such a student you are to me, Hermione ..."

Hermione couldn't do otherwise - she laid her arms around Minerva McGonagall and sank in the embrace the elder woman offered her. She began to cry quietly, feeling like a small child now. Minerva seemed to understand. She led Hermione to her bed and sat down with her on the bedside, not releasing the girl of her embrace.

"Yes, dear - cry. It is a lot what lays on you. So it's quite all right when you cry," comforted the professor, gently stroking Hermione's hair. "But you don't have to be afraid. Albus Dumbledore is a good and kind man - and you know, you impressed him today."

Hermione rose her head, whipping a tear from her cheek and asked with big eyes: "I impressed him? But how?"

"Yes, you did." Minerva pulled Hermione's blanket open and padded on the mattress. "Hop in - you're cold."

Since she had left her parent's home for Hogwarts, being eleven years old, Hermione hadn't been tucked in and she could never had imagined that Minerva McGonagall would do it to her. But as she did, Hermione enjoyed it, feeling warmed and cared for.

"I want you to promise me something, Hermione," Minerva said now, still holding the girl's hand.

"Yes, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"You know," Minerva started, "our headmaster is a busy man. Therefore you'll probably feel sometimes a bit lonely as his wife. Please - come to me whenever you feel so. My husband and I will ever be there for you. Promise me not to forget that, will you?"

"I promise." Hermione said, fighting again against tears.

"And there's something else, "Minerva McGonagall looked almost awkward. "I mean with the wedding coming so abrupt you don't have time for getting yourself a dress - perhaps you'd like to get mine? You know, as I married I dreamed of having a daughter once and for her I kept the wedding dress. Having no daughter ..."

"I'd love toe war your dress!" Hermione said, beaming. "But will it fit me? You're much taller as I am ..."

Minerva McGonagall laughed. "Dear child - we're witches, aren't we? So we'll make the dress fit - and every thing else too if we have to."

****

Hermione was sure: If she were to have a daughter once and she'd ask about her mother's wedding the first thing coming to Hermione's mind would be the colours - the rich honey gold of the silken robe she wore, the dark purple velvet of the robe Minerva McGonagall had transfigured for Ron and Harry, the burgundy both McGonagalls had dressed with and - Hermione first almost hadn't believed her eyes - the vivid, dark green of forest, showed by Severus Snape who stood, his black hair on a tail on his back, next to the bridegroom.

But the colour Hermione was sure she'd remember until her last day was blue - the azure blue of Albus Dumbledore's gorgeous, with silver embroidered robe and the pure blue of his eyes. This eyes connected with hers as she stepped, lead by Minerva, into the room of requirement which looked on this day as a chapel. Hermione clung to this old and wise and warm eyes until she stood next to him, getting strength and courage from them. Only for a moment she looked to Augustus McGonagall - a tall gaunt man with a bald head and a warm smile. He stood in front of Albus and her and waited patiently until the little group of people in the room became entirely silent. Then he started to speak and Hermione searched once again for Albus' eyes and lost herself in them, hardly hearing what the wizard in front of her said. He spoke about love and its different forms, about its power and magic and Hermione heard his words, but couldn't take them to understand already - she still felt as if ths all would happen to a stranger and is if the only thing real were the blue eyes which looked to her with warmth and tenderness.

"Amor vincit omnia," the old wizard finished his speech. Albus' eyes led Hermione's gaze with one little move to Augustus McGonagall. He smiled encouragingly and said: "Hermione Dorothy Granger, are you willing to bind your wand, your heart and your soul to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore? Will you live with him, love, respect and protect him until death parts you?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, her voice almost a whisper. She breathed deeply, then she looked once again in Albus' eyes and repeated, firmer and louder as before: "Yes, I will."

Augustus McGonagall looked to Albus now. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, are you willing to bind your wand, your heart and your soul to Hermione Dorothy Granger? Will you live with her, love, respect and protect her until death parts you?"

"Yes, I will," answered Albus without any hesitation.

"Who's the witness the bond?" Augustus McGonagall asked.

Minerva and Severus Snape stepped forward. Minerva, head up, back proudly erect, spoke first: "I, Minerva Melusine McGonagall-Stuart, will be the bride's witness to the bond."

Hermione looked to Professor Snape. His face was as neutral as ever, but his voice sounded warm and kindlier as she'd ever heard it before as he said: "I, Severus Aurelius Snape, will be the bridegroom's witness to the bond."

"Your wands, please," the old wizard ordered. Hermione, having learned by Minerva, what was expected, pulled her wand out of her sleeve and raised it so that the tip touched the wand Albus presented. Snape's ebony wand and Minerva's oak hovered over the joined tips.

Hermione kept her breath, waiting for the incantation, surely a long and complicated one. But it was only one word: Confundo!" In joy and amazement Hermione saw how a golden stream floated from the tip of her wand and mingled with the silvern from Albus, klinkling and glittering, forming an orb out of pure, white light. Through the light Hermione saw the faces of the witnesses - Minerva looking almost puzzled, but delighted and Snape - Hermione fist couldn't believe her eyes - smiling a smile which softened the hard angles of his pale face and made him look handsomer as Hermione couldn't have imagined.

Behind her back Hermione heard Ron saying: "Whow!", then he whispered something to Harry while the orb slowly vanished.

"The bond is closed!" announced Augustus McGonagall. He pushed his wand back in his sleeve, took Hermione's hand and - much to her surprise - bowed over it, not touching, but kissing in a perfect old-fashioned courtesy the air above it. "Congratulations, Madame Dumbledore," he said.

Hermione stammered - and found herself already in a hug from Minerva McGonagall. "Dearest child - you're the loveliest bride I ever saw!" Minerva was in tears and her husband smiled tenderly, laying his hand on her back. "Weddings almost get her!" he commented.

Minerva let Hermione free. "Every human being with art art is touched by a bonding so strong!" she rebuked her husband. "Even Severus is."

"Uh!" Professor Snape sneered, but Hermione could see that he wasn't really in it. His dark eyes even looked amused as he said: "If I'd knew I'd become insulted by Minerva again, I wouldn't have came to this event."

"So I take you won't insist in the best man's right to kiss the bride?" Albus asked.

"You want me to toughen her up for you?" Snape promptly fired back, but didn't wait for an answer, but took Hermione's hand and - like Augustus McGonagall had done before - kissed the air over it. Raising his head and looking Hermione in the eyes, he said, his voice soft and velvety: "I wish you all the best, Mrs Dumbledore."

Hermione couldn't answer - she was too amazed. Never before she'd heard the cold potion master sound like that, never before she'd seen his onyx eyes so open and honest.

Albus answered for her. Hugging the younger wizard, he said: "Thank you, my boy."

Hermione heard Ron swallowing hard and turned around to him and Harry. Both looked a bit shaken and Hermione wasn't sure if it was for watching the ceremony or for Snape being kind.  
Harry was the first to find words. He embraced Hermione and said: "Congratulation. I hope you'll become so happy as you deserve."

"Oh, Harry ..." Hermione fought against tears - not from fear, but from feeling touched.

Ron was the next to hug Hermione, asking her: "Must I call you Mrs Dumbledore now?"

Once again it was Albus who answered."Nobody must. For the ministry's register it will be Hermione Granger-Dumbledore. But because it's quite a mouthful, I think Hermione Granger will do nicely for daily use." He smiled. "A wedding - even under this circumstances - demands for celebration, at least a little one. So may we - my wife and I - invite you to a glass of champagne and dinner at our rooms?"

*****

With a flick of his finger Albus got himself rid of the heavy dressrobe and the silken underrobe he'd wore. Both garments floated to the big hanger, full with robes in all colours and arranged it selves neatly. Albus sighed and looked to the mirror covering the entrance of his bathroom. He knew what he saw there, but this knowledge didn't keep him away from stock-taking - starting with his white, long feet over the pale, thin legs with the knobbly knees. Once, a long time ago, a soft hand had stroked his legs and a warm voice had said:" Runner's legs - quite nice to look at. Actually it's a shame you're always hiding them under your robes." Now his legs wouldn't get praise anymore - now probably it was a mercy to hide them.

His gaze wandered over this thighs - at least they were still firm and even a bit muscled - to his soft member in its nest from white curls. Once again he remembered a female voice: "Oh - and that's probably not so little Albus. He's quite a gentleman, isn't he? Always raising up when a lady approaches ..." The memory made Albus smile sadly and he whispered: "Don't let us down this night, old boy. I'll get you a little help, so don't disappoint me."

He shook his head - talking with his cock wasn't something he'd done in years. His eyes wandered higher - over a round belly to his almost hairless, old chest to his shoulders. Once they had been broad and strong, but now the years had bent them and weakened the muscles. The once firm and silken skin was soft and wrinkled now, brown spots from age contrasted sharply against the white.

Actually Albus didn't dislike his body, even aged. It had always served him and even now, in his advanced age, he rarely felt let down from it. But for this special night this withered, bony body wouldn't do.

So Albus took the little vial, standing on a board, in his hand and opened the stopper. Severus's voice sounded in his memory: "Be careful with it, Albus. Don't take more then three drops - or Miss Granger will have to change nappies during her wedding night."

The potion in the vial smelled sharply and the slimy green of it didn't make it look very appetizing. Once again Albus remembered Severus' voice: "I don't have to tell you that this potion isn't what a healer would order you for a healthy age? If taken more then once in a week it would do incurable damage to the entire system. The aging of the cells would speed up and the lifespan of the wizard in question would become shortened."

Albus sighed. At least this wasn't something he had to worry about. The potion wouldn't get a chance to shorten his lifespan. For the time he had left he wouldn't suffer from after effects.  
She he used the stopper for putting exactly three drops on his tongue, making a face as the bitter substance hit his taste cells. Really - couldn't Severus had done anything against that? Yet the potion worked. Albus registered immediately a rush of energy running through his entire body - so strong it made him a bit dizzy. He closed his eyes and braced himself with one arm against the wall and by doing so he felt how his arm became stronger and his head clear again. Only his sight was blurry as he opened his eyes again. He blinkedt tht the mist around the figure in the mirror didn't go away. Albus only saw a dark red head and a darker, heavier body as before. Once again he blinked - and then he thought of his glasses and took them up. Now the sight was clear and sharp and Albus looked in wonder to the young man in the mirror. It was him - unmistakably and truly him. Only the long scar on his left thigh wasn't there, what told Albus: This him was the body he had possessed before his 31. birthday and the fight with a dragon in which he'd almost lost his leg.

Albus looked again to his younger self and smiled. Yes, he'd wore his hair and beard - dark auburn at this time - shorter. So he'd able to keep his promise to Rosmerta: The charm for getting "all hair out of the way" would stay their secret.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Ivory Prince

At the first moment Hermione thought he were a stranger and keeping with both hands to the blanket, she made a squeak and sat up in bed, starring at the naked - no, not entirely, but only wearing a light blue towel around his middle section - man who'd just appeared in the bedroom. Although Hermione certainly wasn't used to men - neither familiar nor strange ones - in a bedroom she was supposed to sleep in, she couldn't deny that this certain man was a definitely handsome representative of his male mankind. The long, well-defined and - for a male - amazingly straight legs, the small thighs, the flat belly, a well-muscled chest and broad shoulders gave him the appearance of a dancer and the head above the handsome body wasn't bad either: Surrounded by a shining halo of dark golden hair, shoulder length and curling slightly at the ends, the stranger had the broad forehead of some one who was used to deep thinking. A few fine lines, already craved in the skin, told that he sometimes wrinkled his forehead by doing so. His sleeves showed the sensitivity and vulnerability Hermione adored in men, especially when it came in contrast to a patrician nose, high cheekbones, a generous, but firm mouth and - in this case surrounded, but not hidden by a short, auburn beard - a strong chin, showing that the owner of this features wasn't only a man who knows what he wanted, but also was in use with getting it.

Hermione swallowed and looked in the eyes of the man who now - slowly, but with grace - came to the bed. Although blue of this clear eyes was deeper and more intense as Hermione was in use with, the sight was familiar. Hermione had looked in this eyes during the entire afternoon and evening. She'd got strength and warmth and courage from them. And even now, as this eyes looked out at her from a younger face, Hermione thought she'd see something like love in them - fatherly love, caring love, protecting love.

He was the first to speak. "I told you," he said, seating down on the bedside, "I'd improve my appearance a bit for you ..."

"That's certainly an improvement!" Hermione burst out - and blushed in the same moment, slapping her hand over her mouth. Heavens - this had been a true Ron! Even he wouldn't have found something more tactless to say in this moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean ..." Hermione began to stammer.

Albus smiled and tugged at the blanket. "May I ...?"

"Of course! It's your bed after all!" Hermione cried.

"It's ours now, Hermione," her corrected her kindly, slipping under the blanket und stretching next to her. "And for the improvement of appearance - I'm glad you approve. I don't expect some one your age to like my old self ..."

"But I don't find .." .." Hermione searched for a word and couldn't find one. "You're always quite a sight and an impressing figure, but ..." Once again words failed her. "Sorry, I'm babbling nonsense," she finished lamely.

"The situation could make for it," Albus said, turning at his side, looking at her. "But you're doing amazingly well, considered the circumstances."

Hermione felt almost insulted by his praise. "What did you expect?" she asked him, but didn't wait for an answer. "You've saved me from a fate really worse then death - and I don't mean this literally. Losing my magic would have been worse then dying. And marrying Malfoy would probably mean death. So you're saving my life - and I'm well aware that you do so on great personal costs. I will have to live up to that and I will do so as I've promised only a few hours before."

Albus sighed, but smiled and took her hand. Kissing it lightly, he said: "Bravely spoken again, my dearest Gryffindor. But you're wrong in one important point and I'd like to make this entirely clear. You know - at least I hope you do - that under other circumstances I'd never laid a finger on a student of mine. I'd even never have thought of a pupil in my care as of somebody one could lay a finger on. Yet with the situation as it is ..." He kissed her hand again, but this time not the back of it, but the inside of her wrist where he blood pulsed under the skin. "I'm a human being - a male human being, Hermione. In the moment I'm even one in the body of a young man. As such I'd make myself a hypocrite if I were to maintain that having a lovely, brave and intelligent young witch for a wife would be a 'sacrifice'. I will defile neither you nor me in this way. We're - in this you were right - both not here because we would have chosen so, but this shouldn't prevent us from making the best of it ..."

Hermione nodded - and pushing herself up to a courage she actually didn't feel, pulled her hand free from the blanket and laid it - cautiously as if she'd expect him (or herself?) to shy away, on his shoulder.

Albus smiled. "Two little things more ..." he said - and suddenly he looked awkward. "Before we ..." a little hesitating, a smile, then with firmer voice - and it was then that Hermione noticed that the hoarseness she was used to hear in his voice was gone - he proceed: "I'd like to know: Are you a virgin, Hermione?"

Hermione blushed. He didn't expect her to tell all about her former love life - or, better said, the lack of having one? It wasn't if she were ashamed of sleeping with Victor, but the one shag with the quidditch champion was not a memory she was very fond of. Besides: It had been a long day and she was tired. If she were to make confessions about former lovers, it would be only fair game to expect some from him too - and considered his age and his looks Hermione wasn't sure he'd have a chance to become ready with confessions before dawn. So she only shook her head, looking at him.

His smile deepened. "I'm glad about that," he said and became serious again. Now his eyes looked almost grave. "I take it we agree in not wanting to procreate?"

This time Hermione nodded, her eyes wide - of this she hadn't thought! But she was glad he obviously had.

"With the marriage law as it unfortunately is, the usage of contraceptus charms and potions is by now restricted and as you surely are aware of," he said, "the ministry has ways to discover the usage of such magic. I don't want to get us in trouble about that."

Hermione's heart began to speed up. Wasn't it enough she had to sleep with a man she hardly know? She really didn't feel up to do it in any especially tricky way!

Albus once again seemed to know what she was thinking. He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Hermione," he said. "I only wanted to tell you that I'm to solve the problem the muggle way - and idea we shall have to thank Severus for."

Hermione could in no way imagine how Severus Snape came in this, but she found, that for once her inquisitive mind even didn't want to get exact knowledge. The thought of Albus and Severus Snape talking about sex was - mildly said - disturbing. The idea of them talking about sex involving a certain Hermione Granger was - no, she really didn't want to think about that, especially not, when Albus obviously had decided now to use his mouth for something else as talking. It came now closer and closer and then it stroked softly - oh so soft and warm and not more touching as the wing of a butterfly - over her cheek to her temple. Hermione trembled under the dry lips on her skin. She couldn't help her body becoming rigid, but not in fear or disgust, but in expectation and - yes, Hermione couldn't deny it even if she'd have want to - something like joy. This man next to her, this handsome stranger with the familiar eyes and the gentle mouth which now blew feather light kisses over her forehead and the bridge of her nose, made her pulse going faster and her stomach doing funny, little jumps. It almost felt as if she'd swallowed not only one, but an entire herd of bumblebees, humming and flying in her belly now and - no, it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. Just on the contrary.

Now a hand - soft and elegant with long, slender fingers, the nails slightly glimmering in the light of the candles - joined the mouth, stroking her hair out of her face, exploring the hairline with only the tips of the fingers and Hermione felt as if she'd melt under this gentle touches. The rigidness of her muscles disappeared, letting back warmth and an awareness of every bone, every sinew, every fibre, every pore of her body she'd never experienced before.

The mouth now was on its way to her ear, nibbling lightly and the deep voice resonated through her as she whispered: "Trust me, Hermione, will you?"

She couldn't answer. She was sure her voice wouldn't obey her, but - to her amazement - her hands moved. One found its way to the back of his bend head where it met silken hair, the other stroke over his shoulders and his biceps - firm and solid and smooth as marble, but alive and warm. Hermione closed her eyes. She wanted to concentrate on the skin she felt, on the smell of his body - still lemon and lavender, but now suddenly not calming and comforting anymore, but exciting. Her fingers moving on their own accord, she dwelled in the fragrance and the feeling of his scalp under her fingertips. He made a sound - deep and throaty, like the purring of a big tomcat. Hermione, always a quick learner, tried again massaging his scalp lightly. Once again her purred and Hermione felt as if she'd just got the jackpot. Never ever she'd have thought it possible that she - Hermione Granger, bushy haired Gryffindor know-it-all and by her best friends always treated like a mixture between alien ("She uses her brain - isn't this alien?") and a gender less something, would be able to make a man purr with only stroking his head. And even more: This wasn't a hormone-driven, needy 19 year old quidditch player who'd probably got an erection every time a woman looked at him. This was - even in this younger body - Albus Dumbledore, a grown man and the most impressing one she'd ever met. To hear him purr was like drinking champagne and suddenly Hermione felt light-headed and wanted to try again, but this time with her hand a bit closer to his neck, just there where she felt his spine meeting the skull.

"Hmm!" he made - but then rose his head and looked to her, his eyes so dark now they almost looked black.

Still holding his head in her hands, Hermione moved under the blanket, closer to the warmth of his body. He moved too and by doing so slid one arm under her neck. Skin met skin and Hermione almost laughed out loud as she saw the expression on his face. What had he expected? That she'd came in a flannel nightshirt, covered from head to toe, in their marriage bed? She'd knew as well as he what they would have to do there and at least for one thing she had been sure: This new husband of hers wouldn't do his "marital duty" in commanding the candles off, pushing her nighty over her belly and performing what her former dormitory mates Lavender and Parvati, Gryffindor's resident specialists for all matters of sex, always named the "rham-wham-thanks, ma'm" number. So what good would it have done to get in bed with a nighty? And besides: Living in an ancient castle in the coldest part of Scotland didn't make one keep a wardrobe full of flimsy, silken night wear. Sensible girl as Hermione was she always wore warm and rather unspectacular pyjamas - most of them gifts from her mother and therefore in form and fashion rather "cute" as seductive. The idea of wearing one of them in her wedding night hadn't even crossed Hermione's mind. She'd hopped naked and in the belief in bed that neither she nor Albus would miss fumbling with fabric.

Obviously he'd expected otherwise. Yet the look on his face wasn't shocked. It rather was surprised - pleasantly surprised. Hermione liked that - after the discovery of the purr, she'd just met her inner sex-goddess, until now a part of her she didn't even know of possessing. It made for bravery and with a courage Hermione wouldn't have expected from herself only a few hours before, she pulled her husband's head to her and kissed him.

Again Albus was surprised, but not for long. Hermione just got a little chance to tease his lips with her tongue, but then the took the lead, opening her lips with his gently, but firmly - and starting to explore her mouth expertly, driving Hermione's inner sex-goddess, the just found, away. She couldn't enjoy it anymore, because she suddenly felt as if she would melt to a puddle. Yet in the middle of the puddle something arose - a need for more, a longing for touches on all her skin. Her nipples sprang to live, prickling and firm, heavy warmth unfolded between her legs.

And still Albus only kissed and hold her and it wasn't enough. It was far away of being enough. Never one for patience when action was asked, Hermione pulled and pressed him closer to her and now at least his chest touched hers and she felt his heart beating. He understood - his hands started to wander, over her shoulders and arms to her sides, stroking down to the curve of her tights, warm and firm and calling every pore of her skin to attention. Hermione heard herself suddenly moan in his mouth, her fingers stroking his back as he broke the kiss and let his lips roam over her chin and throat, while - at last! - one hand gently cupped a breast. The other took the blanket and then he rose head once again, looking to her. "Let me see you, Hermione," he asked and it was her, who pushed the blanket out of the way, presenting her naked flesh to him.

He laid on his side, one arm still under her neck and by the look in his eyes Hermione felt another sensation, entirely new: For the first time in her life she could think of herself as beautiful. She knew - so sure as she knew that Hogwarts was in Scotland - that he thought her a beauty and she wasn't surprised as she heard his voice, hoarse again, saying: "You're lovely, Hermione - lovely and beautiful and gorgeous and a feast not only for the eyes, but for hands also ..." And by saying so the tip of his index finger painted a line on her body, from her throat between her breasts to her mound. "You feel like a peach ..." and bowing his head over her, lightly nibbling on her shoulder, he said, "... and I'm very fond of peaches."

Hermione felt suddenly a bit tippsy - as if she'd had more then the one little glass of champagne and she found herself laughing and asking: "More as on lemon drops?"

"Much more!" he assured her, cupping once again her breast with his big hand. "No lemon drop will ever feel so wonderful as this ..." he whispered, his mouth almost on her skin and now gliding to her stiff and demanding nipple.

A jolt like electricity ran through Hermione as his lips finally touched her, kissing first, then his tongue started licking, the tip of it playing with the peek, every time when reaching for it sending another shower through her. It went from scalp to toes and let a need back to be touched and to touch herself and so one of her hands found back in his hair - so silken and warm, so alive - to more stroking, while the other fingers fund once again smooth skin - again his shoulders, but from there over his back to the swell of his buttocks, still covered by the towel. By this she remembered how Victor had pushed her to reach for his cock. She hadn't liked it then, but now she wanted to feel his manlihood, only she didn't dare to reach for it. Shyness and something like fear overcame her. What if she wouldn't find an erection?

Hermione really wasn't much experienced with men - especially not with adult men. She didn't have the slightest idea about what he expected from her, how he wanted - or even needed - her to touch him. What if he didn't desire her? What if she was alone with the longing his tenderness and closeness produced in her? The nervousness about it made her once again becoming rigid and suddenly wishing he wouldn't try so much to seduce her. Why couldn't they do it the easy way with him drinking a lust potion and with her closing her eyes and thinking of - no, not exactly England, but perhaps of the fact that pulling teeth the muggle way needed longer, was even more unpleasant, but was nevertheless something thousand of peoples survived every week without lasting damage?

Albus mouth wandered again - this time over Hermione's belly, where he kissed her belly button, then deeper south, gliding over her left tight to her leg. Hermione's breath stopped - and so obviously did her mind. The last coherent thought was: "Will he really go there?" - and then a tender hand parted her legs and the mouth reached there - just on Hermione's lust centre, making her moan and scream and struggle for air. She hadn't been prepared for this - she'd even never thought that a touch so lightly and soft could cause her body such wonderful, breath taking sensations. Every thought of "let's just get over with" were blown away as his tongue circled around her clitoris and made her feel as if she'd explode in pleasure the next moment. Never before - certainly not with Victor and unfortunately not even when her own fingers worked on building pleasure - it had felt like this. Hermione actually wished time would stay, only for a moment, only for a little chance to sort out and savour the perfection of this. But in the same moment she knew she couldn't have beared a delay - she wanted more, she needed more as only the butterfly kissed he blowed against her and the tickling of his beard against her almost oversensitive flesh. There was an emptiness within her, a heavy and sad emptiness, a urgent need to get more and she arched her back and spread her legs to get closer to the auburn head between her tights and still it wasn't enough, though she sucked now her little bud. Hermione almost cried in relief as finally a finger joined her lover's lips - a long, tender finger, first teasing her entrance and then, gently and almost too slow for her need - pushing in her channel. Hermione heard herself scream and moan and becoming silent again, then now the finger had found a spot in her which had seemed to wait for becoming stroked. A push there sent Hermione over the edge, a red wave seemed to take her higher and higher and higher until her entire being was filled with pleasure and lust.

But still it wasn't enough and she heard her own voice, almost unrecognizable for its hoarseness, beg: "Please, please, Albus ..." She didn't know for what she asked, she couldn't think clear enough to figure it out, but Albus obviously knew. Hermione moaned in disappointment as he suddenly turned away, getting himself rid of the towel and stretching to get something from the night stand. While he was busy with opening a little box, Hermione couldn't resist a glance to his groin. There she saw the prove for him being aroused too. His cock stood proudly, the head already glimmering wet. Hermione dared a second look to it and swallowed. Her experience with cocks were limited to boys - and even there she'd only shortly seen Victor's to which he'd vainly referred as "my big wand". Hermione was sure: Albus couldn't call his member a "wand" - or since when did wands come in such diameters? Yet it wasn't only thick - it was just long enough to look well proportioned and so straight Hermione felt remembered to the way its owner always looked when walking through the great hall: Proud and confident.

She longed to touch it, but once again Albus was quicker. His grip to the base was firmer as Hermione would have done and she cringed by seeing it. Yet the long, tanned hand on the white firmness looked the most erotic sign Hermione had ever seen and she watched in awe as he covered his penis with a condom. Done he turned once again to her, one finger teasing her nipple, his mouth nibbling once again on her shoulder. Hermione opened her arms and legs for him - she'd waited long enough and by now she really needed him. Yet he once again hesitated, looking up to her with serious eyes. "I don't want to hurt you, little one," he whispered. "It's for you to say when you're ready."

His concern didn't only touch her, but made her finally overcame her shyness. Pulling him close and laying one leg around his she answered: "I want you. I really do."

Now he glided over her, spreading her legs wider with his knees, his cock pulsing against her entrance and finally slipping it. Although Hermione was more aroused as ever before, she had to struggle for breath, surprised by being stretched to almost a hurt. Yet what a sweet pain it was to be filled like that and to made feel complete with it! Hermione felt tears running down her cheeks and a tenderness for the man in her arms which almost was too much to bear.

Albus kept still. Braced on his elbow, only connected with her through the bridge of flesh his member in her built, he looked in her eyes. "Are you feeling well, Hermione?" He asked.

"I feel wonderful!" Hermione moved her butt to prove it. She had now adjusted to his size and it felt - perfect, wonderful, lovely, exciting, great. Yet she still wanted more - more of him and their closeness, more of the sweet pleasure even the smallest move of him caused, so she pulled him closer, her lips searching for his mouth, tasting herself on it. She wondered - the smell in his beard didn't revolt her, on the contrary, it made her even more aroused. She clung to him, her hands again in his hair and now he didn't only purr under her ministrations, but moaned and began to move - slowly and cautiously first, but feeling her eager response, he speed up until their bodies found a rhythm suiting their mutual need and wanting. And now he managed to hit the spot his finger had discovered earlier again and with every stroke on it made Hermione cry and struggle for breath and clinging more to him, her hand still ins his hair, the other on his back, her lips on his neck, kissing and sucking and savouring the taste which was so entirely him.

Hermione forgot about time - were it seconds or minutes or even hours? It felt like sweet eternity, like every fibre of her had at last found its destiny and in it a rightness she'd never experienced before. If she would have been able to coherent thinking, she'd probably laughed out loud, remembering the endless talks of her former dormitory mates about the difficulties of doing "it" right and the need to show oneself as a talented mistress by it. Yet she couldn't think. Her mind didn't allow any thoughts because it was entirely filled with love.

Surely cradled in Albus' arms, the head on his shoulder, playing lazily with the few hair on his chest, Hermione felt as satisfied and content as never before. Her body was tired, her tights and her belly even aching slightly as if she'd just done a long walk, but her mind was clear and her senses even sharper as normally. The smell of the long body next to her, the silken smoothness under her fingers, the contrast between his ivory skin and the dark blue sheets of the bed, the soft light of the candles and their almost inaudible cracking, the only sound except of his quiet breath - Hermione felt as if all this would just become burned in on her memory so she would never forget it. And wasn't this moment something on which she would feed in bad times?

Hermione braced herself up on one of her elbows and looked to him. "Albus?" she said and using his given name didn't feel strange anymore. How should it with the memory of him panting and moaning in her arms? He'd looked so vulnerable during his climax, so far away from his all-day confident, calm and always a bit distant self and with that so entirely hers. No, calling him by his given name wasn't wrong anymore - the man next to her, the man which warmth she took in with her fingers and her skin, was really and truly her husband. It was only that Hermione wasn't sure how she'd feel when he was back in his "real" body - and with thinking of this her insecurity was suddenly back. He was the headmaster after all, a man not only twice, but almost tenth her age!

"Yes, my dear?" His eyes - still the eyes of the young man - showed suddenly melancholy and worry.

"The potion ...," she started a bit awkward. "When will it wear off?"

Albus sighed. "Severus said the effect of it would last four or five hours. So you'll probably be deep in dreams when it happens."

"Will it hurt you?" Hermione asked, her hand still on his chest.

He shook his head. "I don't think so. I'll only feel my rheumatism once again - but I'm in use with it."

"I didn't know wizards get rheumatism too," Hermione said and her voice sounded like a small child's.

"Wizards are only humans," Albus answered with a smile. "So we get all kind of illnesses muggles are suffering with too. Only we've got the advantage of having potions for curing or at least helping us through the most of them." He caught one of her curls and rolled it round his index finger. "Aren't you tired, Hermione?"

"Are you?" she asked back.

Albus smiled and stretched. "As I've just said: I'm only human. So - as every human male and probably even some male animals too - I'm tired after an act of love making."

"Then I should let you sleep," Hermione said, chewing on her under lip once again.

Albus laughed, angled for the blanket and laid it around her shoulder. "If only you wouldn't burst with questions! I think I can manage to answer at least a few of them before sleep overwhelms me. And let me guess: The first one is how we'll spend our honeymoon ..."

The lightness of his tone made Hermione smile. "Will we have something like that?" she asked.

"I'd actually love it," Albus answered, once again becoming serious, "but we're in the middle of a term, in a few weeks we'll have christmas and in a few months your NEWTs will come up, so I don't think I should keep you away from classes too long. Even I couldn't stand Minerva's furor if I were to spoil her star student's chances for top marks. Besides it seems that I'm up to another little fight in the International Wizard's council tomorrow. Our dear friend Lucius Malfoy seems to have found a new way to interfere in the ministry's business for getting his master's dirty deeds done. This time he uses his probably heavily gold-supported influence on the French minister to alienate wizards and vampires even more. And in the contrast to our dear minister and his once again installed state's secretary Umbridge I think we can't afford hostility against us and the old forces. It could easily make them lose their indifference against us - and if they were to become Tom Riddle's allies, we were in even deeper trouble."

Hermione shuddered by the thought of it. She'd never seen a vampire because it gave only a few of them anymore and none of them wanted contact to wizards, but from what she'd learned about them and their very strong, ancient magic she didn't want to meet one - especially not with the vampire as an enemy. Thinking of such a prospect made her own fate once again looking pretty unimportant and small. "I'm sure the council will see your point," she said therefore, not entirely sure if she wanted to give him support or if she needed the comfort of believing it herself.

"I hope very much so," Albus sighed. "Yet I'm aware that I'm far away of being very appreciated by the council."

"But why?" Hermione cried. She remembered how shocked she'd been in her fifth Hogwarts year as she'd learned that the Wizengamot and the International Council had - as Draco Malfoy had so nicely said - "sacked" the headmaster because "they've finally checked that the old fool had long lost his marbles". Behind it was the simple fact that Wizengamot and Council hadn't want to deal with the truth. They'd rather called Harry a "liar" and Albus "senile" as to admit that Voldemort was really and truly back. But by now they should know better, shouldn't they? "Can't they see you were always telling the truth, simply looking further in the future as they are able to?" she asked him.

Albus smiled a bit bitterly. "Cassandra," he only said. "Does the name ring a bell?"

"Of course," Hermione said. "She was a seer and always right."

"And therefore people didn't want to hear what she had to tell," Albus finished for her. "The truth makes people feel uncomfortable. They don't want their illusions destroyed." He rose his head and blow a little kiss to the tip of her nose. "But let's come back to a young lady who's always brave enough to face truth. How do you want me to deal with our marriage in public? We can't keep it a secret, you know. The entry in the ministry's register should by now be done and I wouldn't wonder if Lucius Malfoy learns about it at breakfast by getting showering with express owls. He won't be the only one, Hermione. We are to become the talk of the day. So I think it would be best if I'd announce our marriage at breakfast in the hall. Doing it myself seems to me a better way as waiting for the rumours and to get you in a situation in which people bother you with questions and suggestions."

"You're certainly right," Hermione answered. "But what am I to do after the announcement?"

"You have two possibilities," Albus answered so quickly, Hermione became aware that he'd already thought over that too. "You can stay at our quarters until the grape mill calms down - and it will calm down after a few days, be assured. Nothing's elder and more boring as yesterday's sensations, so in a week or two probably nobody will bother you much about our marriage anymore."

Hermione didn't like this idea too much. "It would feel like hiding behind your back," she said. "I don't like it. I've done nothing I'd feel ashamed of, so I can face the world."

Her reward was a big smile and another kiss, this time at her forehead. "You're making me a proud man, Hermione. Married to such a courageous and lovely witch - I actually shall have to thank Lucius for it."

Hermione chuckled. "I don't think he'd appreciate your expressed gratitude - though the idea of his face by getting it is nice."

"When you are to face the world with me tomorrow, you'll get at least to see Malfoy junior learning about us." Albus grinned, looking very young by it. "Perhaps I should inform Poppy first. The mediwitch falling from her chair herself wouldn't be of much use if Master Malfoy faints from shock. However: I hope our 'back to normality' way of dealing won't become too hard for you."

"I won't be alone in it. Harry and Ron and Ginny will be there - and Professor McGonagall of course ..." Hermione encouraged herself.

"And don't forget Severus," Albus said firmly. "Being witness to a binding means more as just standing by. Severus is well aware of that. He pledged loyalty to our bond - and with that loyalty to you. With him this means a lot ..."

Hermione looked for a long moment in her husband's grave eyes. Memories of the 1436 time she had defended Snape against her friends crossed her mind and quietly she said, more establishing a fact then asking for it: "You're his friend."

"No." Albus shook his head and his face became very sad. "I trust him with more as my life - I trust him with the life of my pupils and with yours. And I truly wish I could be his friend because he urgently needs one. But unfortunately I am not. Instead I am his nemesis, his torturer, his prison keeper, the man who sends him in the hands of evil again and again, the man who destroyed more then once the little hopes Severus still keeps. To name me his friend would be hypocrisies as it worst and cruelty."

"But you care for him!" Hermione almost screamed.

"Yes, I do." Albus sighed. "He wouldn't believe it, but I care even deeper for him as for Harry. You know, I appreciate and love Harry, but Severus is the closest thing I have to a son." He turned around to his side, now facing Hermione again. "On behalf of Severus I'd like to ask you for a big favour, my dear."

"Yes?" Hermione sounded eagerly.

"Minerva told me, you'd like to do your honour project in transfiguration," Albus said.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "I'd like to become an animagnus."

"You know I was Minerva's predecessor as transfiguration teacher?" Albus asked her. "I'm even a master of it myself, so I could teach you that and you could do a potions project for the NEWTs. You're outstanding in potions, as Severus says, so you're qualified for it - and I'd be very grateful if you could bring yourself to do potions instead of transfiguration."

"Uff," Hermione breathed deeply. "I don't think Professor Snape would like to have me around in his lab. You know, he isn't exactly a fan of mine. And until now it was always Slytherins doing honour projects in potions. I don't think he'd take up a Gryffindor."

Albus smiled. "Allow me to know him better as you do. He'd rather swallow his sharp tongue as to admit it, but he'd feel honoured. Besides he urgently needs a helping hand - and one he can trust not poisoning him like he'd to fear with a few of his pupils. His work as a spy takes a great deal of strength out of him and his ambition to keep up nevertheless with potion making doesn't help with getting him the urgently needed rest. And more - I think with a little time and patience you could become the friend he needs."

"Me?" Hermione's eyes became as big as saucers.

Albus laughed out loud, lifted the blanket and looked along his body. "No, Hermione," he chuckled, "I didn't lost them."

She didn't understand, still being busy with chewing on the big bite of his idea of her befriending the potion master. "What?" she asked therefore.

"My marbles, darling." Albus really was amused. "They're still were they belong." He turned on his back, stretching by it with feline grace, then he yawned.

"You're really tired," Hermione stated. "And you need rest too, but ..." She simply couldn't resist - his stretching had reminded her to a question she longed to ask since he'd mentioned being a transfigurations master himself. "One last question - then I let you have your rest. What is your animagnus form?"

"You've got three guesses." Albus smiled.

"A lion?" Hermione shot immediately.

Once again he stretched, his arms now over his head. "Nope!" he said cheerfully. "And Severus would say now: 'How Gryffindor of you!' Next guess?"

"Hmm ..." Hermione had been so sure about the lion. Now she had to think for a moment. "A horse?" she hesitatingly said. "I mean, a white thoroughbred stallion would suit you too."

"Wrong again, but I feel flattered." Albus grinned. "Let me help you a bit: In my anigmagnus form I'm small enough you could keep me on your lap."

"You're not another cat?" Hermione reckoned. "So ... hmmm ..." She didn't have an idea.

Albus laughed once again, the he rose up. "I'll show you - but laying on my back isn't a good way to change as I've learned by bad experience." Standing in front of the bed now, he moved once his shoulders, then he seemed to melt and suddenly he was gone. Hermione jumped in surprise, searching the room for an animal. Then she heard a sharp crackle and the rustling of strong wings. A falcon rose up from the carpet next to the bed, getting himself with two strokes of his wings up to the ceiling, hovering there for a moment and sailing down then graciously to the foot of the bed. Hermione was now - in her curiosity not aware of being still naked - on her knees and hands to get a closer look at the bird. It was beauty with a wide, white breast, the feathers at their ends speckled with black, the wings just opposite with black feathers, surrounded by white and the head like an expertly done japanese paint-and-ink-painting. Hermione longed to touch the bird, but didn't dare. "May I stroke you?" she asked awkwardly.

The falcon bent his head to the side, getting his sharp, grey beak out of her way and looked to her out of his onyx eyes. Hermione took this as a "yes" and carefully stroked with only one finger over his neck. "You're beautiful, Albus," she said.

The falcon opened his beak, making a sharp sound, then he rose his wings and stretched, growing back to the now familiar form of young Albus again.

"I've never seen such a falcon before," Hermione said. "What kind is it?"

"It's a falco rusticolus - gyrfalcon. They're very rare in England because they actually live in North Europe. So I wondered a bit how I came to acquire this animagnus form, but I have a few nordic ancestors. Perhaps the gyrfalcon comes from that," Albus explained, crawling back under the blanket.

"It's really lovely!" Hermione staid, still delighted.

"It's quite useful too," Albus smiled. "When I'm in a hurry to go somewhere, I don't have to walk down all the way to the apparition point at the gates. I simply start from the tower. And having a falcon's sight sometimes is an advantage for a headmaster - one learns a lot by looking down from above."

"Ah - that's why you're always so quick in travelling!" Hermione said. "I've always wondered if you're perhaps able to take down the anti-apparations wards at Hogwarts."

"Having built them up myself, I actually could," Albus answered, once again yawing. "But it would need more time and strength as simply sailing down from the tower. And it wouldn't be less fun because Fawkes and I are often making a race out of it. And if he doesn't cheat with his magic, I even sometimes win. Oh - by talking about Fawkes: You don't mind if I go to get him? He doesn't like sleeping in my office. When I make him to, he's always sulking for days. Besides he's my alarm clock, without him I'd always sleep in."

tualtually ..." Hermione looked a bit sheepishly, "my cat is in use with sleeping at my feet ..."

"Hmm - that's nice! A fur ball for a foot warmer. Don't you think you could perhaps persuade him to warm my feet too?" Albus smiled.

"I will try. So you don't mind if I get him? He's in a cradle in my study ..."

"Let's get our familiars," Albus rose and so did Hermione.

This time she was aware of her nudity and quickly summoned her dressing gown. Yet Albus didn't look at her. He was already on his way to his bathroom and as he disappeared through the door, Hermione felt a pang of sadness. Obviously the sweet hour - and it had indeed been a sweet one - was over and with it the closeness and intimacy she'd enjoyed so much.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Attacks and antics

By awakening Hermione found herself alone in the huge four poster she'd come to think about as "our bed in the last hours. Only an auburn hair on the deserted pillow next to her and the slight ache in her thighs as she stretched proved that the last night with the handsome stranger hadn't been a dream.

Hermione turned and put the hair from the pillow, thoughtfully curling it around her index finger. Looking to it she thought she could smell her lover's lemon drops and lavender fragrance and her heart jumped by remembering it.

"Albus,« she whispered, suddenly sad and feeling so lonely it hurt. Where was he? And why was he already gone? The sky outside the windows still looked pretty dark, the winter sun hadn't rose entirely yet, so it was early - too early for her husband leaving the bed chamber already. Yet by thinking of him Hermione suddenly became aware that the man she were to meet for breakfast wouldn't be "her" Albus - the Albus in whom arms she'd felt so right and happy. By now he was back in being the headmaster with his silver mane and the heavy robes. The thought of it made Hermione so sad she felt her eyes burn with tears. She longed for his warmth and the comfort she'd found in his embrace, she still thought she'd feel his long, firm form against which she'd snuggled the last night before falling asleep. When would she see this Albus again? And how was she to deal with the headmaster now, longing for his younger self?

Crying her eyes out wouldn't do - so much was clear. He'd praised her courage in the night and Hermione had felt very proud by it. She wouldn't let him down now and so she allowed herself one last little sigh before she energetic pushed herself out of the warm bed and walked to the bathroom he'd prepared for her. Being already too nervous fobathbath, she took a quick shower, brushed her teeth and tried - once again a futile attempt as the mirror told her immediately - to tame her bushy hair. Dressing herself in her school uniform which had laid neatly pressed on a shelf in her new closet - she took a long look to the mirror, searching for something new in her features. But it was still the old, plain Hermione looking back to her. Nothing had changed, though she felt as if everything had. She wasn't a girl anymore, but a woman, a lawfully wedded wife and - Hermione felt a little tremble by the memory of it - her husband's very own lover, the one who made him purr and moan only a few hours ago.

"Hermione?" His voice sounded from the bedroom, once again hoarse and even more cracked as she remembered it.

"Here I am!" She answered and went to the bed chamber, looking at him as he stood in the door to the stairs, the light from the window behind him shimmering in lis long hair. He was, Hermione stated with one gaze, looking even more buttoned-up as the day before in his dress robe. It was once again purple and gold this morning - a silken underrobe with a very high collar, a brocade overrobe with wide sleeves and a matching hat. Even his benevolent smile looked to Hermione as if he'd put it firmly on his face by willpower and with thinking so every idea of kissing him for getting back something of the warmth she had felt in the night was gone. Suddenly it seemed unimaginable that she really had shared the bed with this man, the thought of it even made her blush and looking to her feet.

"I hope you slept well?" he asked now and to Hermione it sounded like the polite question a stranger in a hotel would ask someone he'd just meet on the buffet by collecting breakfast.

"Yes, I did," Hermione answered with the same politeness, still starring at her feet and fighting against tears. She wouldn't cry - she wouldn't allow herself to! "I hope, you slept well too?"

"Oh yes." He was stepping in the room now, but not looking at her, but to the fire. "I've spoken with Professor Snape," he said now and Hermione registered, that he now used the title again. In the night it had been "Severus" - and hadn't he really asked her to befriend the cold man? In the morning light even the idea of it sounded odd. "He agreed," Albus proceeded now, "to take you up with your honour project and he'd like to see you in his office after dinner."

Hermione swallowed and noted. With more bravery as she felt by the prospect of seeing Professor Snape, she said: "I'll be there then."

"I hope I'll be back then too, so I can join the two of you. And if you're not too tired afterwards I'd like to give you a private lesson in transfiguration."

"That would be nice", Hermione said and thought by it, that having a schedule was nice, but having done with already would be even nicer.

The headmaster looked to his wizard's watch and the first little smile on this morning crossed over his face. "It's time for breakfast. Are you ready to face the world, Madame Dumbledore?"

Actually Hermione didn't feel so, but her pride forbad her to admit. Instead she braced herself and tried to smile back. "I am, sir."

"Good," he simply stated. "Then let's go."

He led her over the stairs to the gallery where he offered her his arm in a courteous gesture. Hermione laid just her fingertips on it, but she tried to smile lightly and to walk with confidence.

"I think this morning we should present ourselves as an item," he explained by wandering down with her over the stairs to the entrance hall. "Therefore I'd like to have you next to me on the head table. For other meals you may seat on your place at Gryffindor table ou cou can have them served to our dining room if you prefer solitude - of, if I'm in the castle - my company."

Hermione only nodded because she didn't trust her voice. Being now in the middle of the castle, the couple was surrounded by students heading for the great hall too - and Hermione didn't know if she should laugh or cry over the looks she got by walking on the headmaster's arm. The two first year girls from Ravenclaw who almost run in an armour because they couldn't take their saucer great eyes from the headmaster and his wife surely were a funny sight, but the sneer she got from a group of Slytherins wasn't, but made her shudder. Yet her husband didn't seem to mind - he greeted friendly back when a student managed to his mouth closed and opened again for a greeting and he actually looked as if he'd walk every morning to the hall with a young wife at his arm.

"Good morning, Headmaster. Hi, Hermione!" a familiar, firm voice sounded in Hermis eas ear and she almost cried in relief by looking in Harry's encouraging smile. Obviously he didn't only understand what the headmaster was up to, but knew how much Hermione needed his support by it. And then Ron, as always late, stormed through the hall to them, breathless grasping "Hello, Hermione. Good morning, Professor Dumbledore."

"Good morning, Mister Potter, good morning, Mister Weasley," Albus sounded amused by the boys flanking Hermione and him like body guards. By walking now in the great hall and up the aisle, he said: "I'm afraid I must divest you this morning of Hermione's company. She'll seat with me. But I trust you'll deputize for me during lunch and dinner later."

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," Harry answered and looked by it as if he were ready to hex everybody who dared to cast a wrong glance at Hermione just in the middle of the next week.

"You've got yourself two nice knights in shining armour," Albus said quietly to Hermione as he led her up to the head table. "Only I've never thought of you as the damsel in distress. You're more in the line of the amazon's queen, aren't you?"

Actually Hermione didn't feel so as he made her seat down on the chair on the right side of his golden throne. By now every single student - and the teachers - in the hall looked to her and it didn't need Minerva tipping her spoon against her goblet for getting the hall silent. It was already quieter as Hermione ever had experienced it at breakfast.

The headmaster rose, looking in to the hall - and for a moment Hermione had to fight for getting her mouth closed again and not gaping like a goldfish out of his bowl by noticing that her inpredicable new husband now really looked amused. "Good morning," he said cheerfully.

The students, looking mostly more then only a bit bewildered, not being in used with an official greeting on a normal breakfast, mostly muttered back, only one very eagle young Hufflepuff shot loudly and at the top of his lung: "Good morning, Headmaster."

"And an especially good morning to you, Mister Leadlefield," Albus smiled to the boy, then looking again up to the entire hall. "I don't want to keep you away from your breakfast too long, I only want to make a private announcement: Yesterday in the evening the lovely young lady at my side finally made me a honourable wizard and husband. So I have now the pleasure to present you my wife, Madame Hermione Granger-Dumbledore. And now tuck in!" He sat down, purring himself a cup of coffee and filling his dish as if he wouldn'ticetice how absolutely thunderstricken his students and most of the teachers were looking.

Hermione couldn't resist to gaze through her eye lashes to the Slytherin table and what she discovered there made her almost giggle. Draco Malfoy had paled so much his face matched his white shirt while his faithful sidekicks, the messieurs Goyle and ... really looked like thick carps out of her pond. Millicent Bullstrode in the meantime watched Hermione with an almost adoring expression - greedy for power as she was she obviously couldn't deny a girl who had caught the biggest fish in the sea her admiration. Her girlfriend and comrade in arms by the power struggle, Pansy Parkinson, was once again quicker in thinking, so instead of looking at Hermione she let her gaze wander over Professor Snape's dark form as if she'd thought about his worth in galleons on the next cattle stock market. Blaise Zabini, Slytherin prefect and Draco Malfoy's all time arch rival in his own house, sniggered and looked as if he'd enjoy immensely and Tiberius Lestrange, his friend next to him, was already opening his mouth for a comment in the direction of Draco.

Watching the Gryffindors was much less amusing. Hermione's house mates were obviously shocked. Neville Longbottom who in the last year had grew from looking like a over-sized toddler to a tall and in a soft way handsome young man, seemed to fight against tears. He'd had ever a soft spor Her Hermione, perhaps even more as that and now he was shattered. And so were Hermione's former dormitory mates Lavender and Parvati, both looking up to her with sympathy and pity in their wet eyes. Ginny Weasley, seating next to them, had almost paled so much as Draco Malfoy, a tear run down her cheek and Hermione became almost angry with Ginny's display of sympathy. What, she'd have liked to ask her, was so bad in being married to the headmaster? Couldn't Ginny, coming from a family always close to Albus Dumbledore, not imagine that there was more about him as his age? Hermione wished she could explain it to her girlfriend, but knew that she wouldn't talk with Ginny about her feelings. To explain would mean to tell about the Albus Hermione had slept with and although the usage of an age reversing potion wasn't by any means illegal, Hermione didn't want anybody to know about. Besides: Hermione had always detested how Lavender and Parvati talked - with more details as Hermione ever had cared to know about one the boys at school - over their newest adventures. To her it had always felt as if the both of them were dirtying something Hermione, being a romantic at heart, thought precious. And thinking of the last night and the intimacy she'd shared with Albus - no, she'd never give her husband away with talking about, not even to Ginny.

A voice interrupted Hermione's thought process - a firm and clear one, Harry's voice which had only became deep and manly a few months before. He'd rose and stood now on the Gryffindor table, head erect, shoulders back, looking to his school mates as if he'd just wait for making some one the wrong gesture. "I think," he said, "I can speak for my entire house in congratulating you, Madame and Professor Dumbledore."

Hermione saw Snape turning his eyes and heard him quietly comment: "And once again our young hero saved the day. I think I'm going to vomit", but even his malice didn't spoil the pride Hermione was feeling by looking at her best friend who just sat down again.

His performance obviously had broken the tension and reminded the other students in the hall of their manners. The prefect of Ravenclaw, a thin, bony sixth year with heavy glasses, was the next raising, looking to the head table and saying: "Ravenclaw house wishes the newly wed couple all the best!"

The Hufflepuff prefect, a round seventh year with a cheerful smile, followed. Beaming at the head table, she cried: "Congratulations from Hufflepuff too, Hermione, sir!"

Hermione looked once again to the Slytherin table. Blaise Zabini actually looked as if he'd want very much to join the other prefects, but Malfoy fixed him with an icy stare while his two cronies Goyle and ... already had clenched their fists. For a few seconds a forbidding silence hung over the hall, Then Hermione heard a rustle obes bes on her left side and Professor Snape's voice, cold and smooth like polished ice, every 's' in his speed so hissed that it reminded Hermione of Harry speaking Parseltongue. "As head of Slytherin house," he said, "I have to apologize for the lack of manners my students are showing ..." Hermione saw the Slytherins cringe and duck. Used to their head of house always favouring them, they obviously knew that he wouldn't let them get away this time and although Hermione didn't like Slytherins in general and detested a few of them even heartily, she felt a pang of sympathy for them. Getting on the wrong side of a crossed Snape certainly didn't count as picnic - even if he now looked to her and the headmaster, finishing his speech with "best wishes" for them.

Once again it was now for the headmaster to raise and he did so, smiling and spreading his arms as if he'd like to hug all his students. "Thank you very much for all the good wishes. My wife and I are grateful indeed."

And then it was at last over - everybody sat again, the tension subsided and though Hermione wasn't really hungry she managed to eat a bit of toast and some porridge. 

Hermione would never have expected it, but as she entered the great hall for dinner, normality seemed already back. Of course, a few of her school mates still started at her as if she'd grew a second head - or even more? - over night, but actually Hermione was in use with being starred at.

Almost seven years as the best friend to the boy-who-lived-through-some-really-dangerous-adventures had made for that and although she'd never liked too much attention on herself, she even felt a big light-headed by now. The day had been easier as she'd expected. The teachers had all acted very tactfully, treating her in class as if nothing would have changed and no one had dared to ask her stupid tiontions. Hermione wasn't entirely sure if she'd been spared because of Ron and Harry who only had left her side when she had disappeared in a girl's bathroom (and even then they'd loitered in front of the door) or if the students avoided bothering her in respect of the headmaster. Only in one case it was clear: The pleasure of seeing the Slytherins wandering around on their tiptoes, not even daring to grand her one of their trademark smirks, Hermione hadn't to thank her friends or her husband for. Their unusual quietness was obviously caused by the dressing down they've received by their head of house - and to think of it made Hermione only regret that she hand't got a ticket for this performance.

Even the after waves of it, experienced during potions with the Slytherins, had shown that Snape had been in the form of his life. His pupils hadn't even dared to look at him as he'd swept in his class room and Snape still had been so furious that his hands had trembled as he'd wrote down the day's potion on the board. The rage in his eyes hadn't vanished even during lunch in the great hall. Yet as much as Hermione thought the Slytherins deserved to be at least once the victims of Snape's anger, the thought of being his after dinner appointment made Hermione's stomach cramp. And even the thought of Albus coming and joining her at Snape's office didn't help much. It rather heightened Hermione's tension because over the day she'd felt becoming more and more distant to the man she was married to. The optimism she'd dwelled on in the night before was entirely gone - so much it seemed by now even hard to believe that she'd really hoped this marriage could work. The Albus Dumbledore from the morning had felt like a complete stranger to her - a polite one, one who showed her respect, but nevertheless a stranger who reminded Hermione on a sphinx - absolutely unfathomable, nothing she could ever understand or get an influence - and if only the slight one of feeling noticed as more as another task to perform - to. Dealing with Snape - even with a furious Snape - was something Hermione didn't look forward to, but was sure she could handle. Yet dealing with Snape and the unknown quantity who was her husband seemed like a bite Hermione would need a long, hard chewing on.

So she was grateful for the reprieve dinner gave her though she once again wasn't hungry and picked on her plate - much to Ginny's dismay. The younger girl once again showed herself as the true daughter of her formidable mother in urging Hermione to eat "because you'll need your strength with Snape, won't you?" and fussed so much about her that Ron finally started bickering with her about "not behaving towards Hermione as if she were a baby". As always when the siblings were arguing with each other - meaning at least twice a day also - Hermione sprung to Ginny's defence which made - this something usual too - Ron grumble with and and Harry turning her eyes, but at this evening Hermione was even grateful for Ron's stubbornness. It was like a good, healthy dose of normality and with that more calming as the protectiveness the boys had shown her all over the day.

Yet Ron, the knight, was immediately back as at the end of dinner Professor Snape marched to the Gryffindor table, his black robes billowing around him as if he'd charmed it to the most bat like fashion possible. He stopped in front of Hermione, glancing at her as if she were one of the ugly potion ingredients he kept pickled in jars on his office and snarled: "You come with me, Mistress Granger."

Without waiting for an answer, he stalked to the door, so Hermione sprang on her legs, throw her heavy satchel over her shoulder and ran after him through the hall and down the stair which led to the dungeons and his office. With an incantation spoken so quietly she couldn't understand a word of it, he opened the heavy door and invited her in with another sneer. Seating himself behind his paper laden desk, he offered her the chair in front of it. Hermione sat down, pulling her robe closer around her. It was chilly in the dungeons and she looked longingly to the cold and empty fireplace, wondering once again how Snape could bear the damp and tristesse of this room. Probably Lavender and Parvati's favourite question "briefs or boxers?" could in the case of the potion master been answered with "neither - it's knee length knickers". Hermione almost grinned by the image of Snape in baggy knickers which now formed in her mind, but knowing that a grin at him wouldn't do her any good, she tried to show a neutral face.

"The headmaster informed me," Snape started now, his tone harsh and his eyes penetrating her, "that you want to take up a honour project in potions for your NEWTs. I don't approve of this silly idea."

"I told the headmaster you wouldn't ..." Hermione heard herself bursting out and bit her tongue, blushing. This certainly hadn't been a good start. "I mean ... I wanted to say ..." she stammered in the futile attempt to save what wasn't to save anymore.

At least her struggling seemed to amuse Snape. The left corner of his mouth twitched once and almost smiling he said: "Don't play coy, Mess ess Granger. We both know it wasn't your idea, but the headmaster's."

"I tried to talk him out ..." Hermione said lam

This time Snape really smiled. "One thing I've learned over the years I've been here, Mistress Granger, is the fact that stopping the Hogwarts express barehanded probably is an easy task compared of stopping the headmaster when he had set his mind to something. And if it's something he thinks you'd benefit from every attempt to get him out of it is a mere waste of time and energy. So I reckon we resign - with as much grace as you can muster - in our mutual fate named Albus Dumbledore and talk about a way we can handle your project without bothering each other too much at it. Do you have any idea what you'd like to do?"

Hermione was entirely flabbergasted - she'd expected almost everything, but surely not so much civility by Snape. Perhaps Albus was right in suggesting that his potion master was in dire need of - no, not a friend because Hermione still couldn't imagine she'd ever think of Snape as of somebody able to friendship - but a normal human contact? This, Hermione, was sure, she could provide him with, even if it would use some time to come at ease enough in being around him. But she'd try - and was there a better time to start with it as now? "I actually did a bit of reading about polyjuice potion ...," she started, her eyes fixed on the leg of his desk in front of her. Probably it wasn't too good an idea to talk about polyjuice potion with him - not with still suffering from a bad conscience because she'd once stolen the ingredients for it from his store. Yet she couldn't think of another subject and now she'd already started with it. So she braced herself with a deep breath and proceeded. "I wanted to know something about the basics of it - why it works in the way it does - but couldn't find much on it ..."

"That's the biggest problem you'll get when going deeper in the subjects which is potions," Snape said, still sounding more civil as she'd ever heard him. "Most potion masters in the past - even such great ones as the famous Nicolas Flamel or Paracelsus - weren't much interested in the 'whys', but always sticking to the 'hows'."

"But that's not the academic way!" Hermione once again almost bursted.

Snape sneered. "After almost seven years in our world even a muggleborn suc you you should have learned, that wizards set other values as muggles ..."

Hermione didn't like how he pronounced "our world", excluding her from it. This dislike made her probably answer sharper as she actually had intended to. "I can't see much value in dabbling around with substances one doesn't know exactly. Besides I remember very well a speech I've heard at my first potion class ever. The potion master in presence spoke about potion making as an 'exact science'. You don't want to disagree with him, sir, do you?"

Snape leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and looking to her with an unreadable expression. "You're still highly convinced about being the gods gift to wizardry, aren't you, Mistress Granger? And I find myself wondering how Merlin managed to live through centuries without being lectured by you!" Now his tone was hostile again and he almost spat the next words at her feet. "This Gryffindor arrogance of yours is why I dislike the lot of you!"

Hermione found herself fuming. Without thinking about she fired back: "I've always wondered how a Slytherin could be so wrong in matters of arrogance. Actually you're the masters of it, believing in yourselves as the salt of the earth. So you should be able to recognize it in others, shouldn't you? You know, your being arrogant, stubborn and biassed is why I dislike the lot of you!"

To her complete puzzlement Snape looked as if he'd amuse himself immensely. But his voice was laden with malice as he said: "Your dislike of all what is Slytherin is something you probably should talk with your husband about." He looked to the watch on the mantlepiece, then he stroke one of his black strands out of palepale face. "By mentioning him: Didn't he want to join us?"

Hermione was still angry, so she answered crisply: "He said so, but haven't him seen all day, I don't know about his whereabouts."

She expected him to rebuke her for her tone, but once again the potion master surprised her. He rose and stepped around his desk, wandering nervously through his office. "I don't like this," he said after a while. "I didn't liked him going on his own this morning and I don't like it better by now. Damn Albus' stubbornness!"

Hermione felt as if just a cold hand had gripped her heart, squeezing it. Swallowing hard, she whispered: "You don't think something bad could have happened to him? I mean, Voldemort fears him. He'd never attack him, wouldn't he?"

Snape stopped his wandering in front of the fireplace. He braced himself with both hands against the mantlepiece, then he said: "Contrary to popular belief I don't like making people unhappy. But I won't belittle you in telling comforting lies. The dark lord's greatest weakness - which I believe will cause his downfall - was and is, that he always liked to overestimate himself and his power. He always wanted to see himself as the greatest and mightiest wizard alive. This disposition - grown despite all the fullbacks over the last years - makes him prone to illusions and to people supporting him in them by telling him what he wants to hear. One of the peoples doing greatly in this section is Lucius Malfoy." He turned and took up his wandering again. "I don't have to tell you how Lucius likes to think and talk about the headmaster. So you probably can figure out what he's harping at with his lord and master for the last years. It made for the dark lord not being in fear of Albus anymore. Instead he believes in himself as the greatest wizard alive and of our headmaster as a senile fool who'd long lost his power. Actually ..." Snape once again stood still, now facing Hermione, "this could work in our advantage, but only as long as Dumbledore isn't exposed to ..."

He didn't finish his line because suddenly his fireplace became lighted. A mighty, golden flame shot high in it, filling the entire room with light so strong Hermione was for a few seconds blinded. As soon as it had come it was gone again, but now a sound emerged from the grate - a crackling like an infant's cry, so helpless and desperate Hermione felt as if her heart would break by hearing it. Immediately she was on her feet and running to the fireplace, almost bumbling in Snape who already bent to the grate and took something out of it, holding it in his hand with a tenderness Hermione wouldn't had believed him capable of. He turned to Hermione, his face paler as she'd ever seen it before, horror and fear in his yes. "I loathe being right," he whispered with a broken voice and then he showed Hermione what he'd taken out of the fireplace.

First she couldn't sort out why this ugly little thing meant such horror to him. But then she looked closer to the thing which reminded her of the plucked rooster's she'd seen as a child when she was in a super market with her mother. Only the object in Snape's hand was smaller and trembled and its beak was sharper as a rooster's and the sound it made was again like a human's cry and the black eyes looking out to Hermione were familiar.

"Fawkes!" she heard herself saying and felt in the same time as if she'd faint.

"Accio cloak!" Snape's voice came to her as if he'd stand behind a wall of thick mist. His heavy gray cloak, sailing through the room hit her in her back and she stumbled forwards, bracing herself with one hand against the cold stone wall. Severus Snape gripped his cloak, threw it over his shoulder and stormed to the door. He seemed to have forgotten Hermione, but she ran after him out of the office and through a small hall she'd never seen before until they reached a small, withered door in a wall. Snape opened it with one impatient flick of his wand, stormed through it and suddenly remembered Hermione, turning around to her. "You stay!" he bellowed.

"No!" She was already outside.

"You stay!" he repeated.

"Be sensible, girl! I don't know where he is. Perhaps st ast apparate to find him. I can't look after you by it," he snarled.

"You won't have to," Hermione said firmly.

"Oh, how I hate Gryffindors!" he screamed, but then he shot "come at last" and started to sprint down a narrow path which led to the forbidden forest.

Hermione, never much in exercises, had difficulties to keep up with his speed, but she ignored the stitch in her sides and the pain as her feet collided with a stone. Her eyes fixed on Snape's back, she tried to concentrate only on breathing and running and to awa away the panic filling her. But the image of the ugly chicken Fawkes didn't get away. She'd seen the glorious phoenix like this once before - after the battle in the ministry in her fifth year. By then he'd been hit by a killing curse, dying in a flame, being reborn from the ashes and carried home tenderly by Albus. So Fawkes coming alone to Snape's office could only mean that Albus was injured - so bad he couldn't help Fawkes.

Through the sound of their steps and the roar of the icy winter wind Hermione suddenly heard Fawkes' cry again. They were close to the dark forest by now and Snape stopped, pulled his wand out and cried: "Lumos!" A ghostly lightang ang from the wand's tip and Hermione recognized the place they were - she'd often sat there on one of the big stones on hot summer days, looking up to the castle. By then she'd always thought of it as one of the nicest places at Hogwarts, but now it had lost its charm entirely. Now the stones reminded Hermione of a grave yard and she shuddered.

"He must be here!" Snape murmured. "Albus?" he said louder. "Albus, can you hear me?" He turned around, his wand over his head. "Damn!" he cursed. "We'll have to search for him."

Hermione pulled her wand out and lightened it too. By walking to a group of stones, looking to the frozen ground, she expected to fall at any moment over her husband's body.

"Well, well, isn't that a nice sight?" The cruel voice of Lucius Malfoy made Hermione jump and turn around. The light of her wand jumped with her and suddenly she saw it: Two dark red spots on the white snow and, only one step away from her feet, half hidden by one of the stones, a wing with black feathers, surrounded by white. Hermione didn't dare to breathe or to look again to the stone. With her eyes fixed on the dark form which was Lucius Malfoy - in full death eater attire, only without the silver mask - she slowly rose her hand and opened the clasp of her robe. The fabric immediately glided down her shoulder. Hermione moved her arm - only a bit, in a move Malfoy hopefully wouldn't notice - and the robe fell down over the stone, covering it and what laid next to him.

"Lucius - what the hell are you doing here?" Snape asked now and Hermione could only admire how calm and cool he sounded by it.

"Probably the same as you, old friend," Malfoy answered. "We're searching for a cadaver, aren't we? Only it seems that the old fool tricked us for a last time. However - he can't have come far. Our lord got him with a nice ripping curse as he tried to flee ..." Lucius sounded proud.

"What happened?" Snape demanded to know. "Why did our lord attack Dumbledore?"

"Without informing you, you mean?" Malfoy sat down one a stone, stretching his legs as if he'd just made himself comfortable in the drawing room of his mansion. "It was a kind of a spontaneous idea, you know? We were just having a drink as we learned that Dumbledore was on his way back to Hogwarts - this time without his usual little stop for a roll in the hay with Rosmerta. You know ..." his easy chatting tone was sewing on Hermione's nerves so much she needed all her strength for not hexing him with the strongest tongue-swelling jinx she knew about, "I've always wondered what the old idiot did there. But obviously he's still to get it up - as he proved this night with the lady in your company, much to my dismay as I must admit. A Malfoy actually doesn't like his bitch being fucked by another dog first ..."

Hermione thought she couldn't stand it one minute more. Her fingers clutched so tightly around her wand it almost hurt and she was just to fire a jinx as she heard Snape's snarl.

"Spare me your antics, Lucius!" He sounded almost bored. "Just tell me how you and our lord got him."

"Dear Severus - always keen on the juicy bits, aren't you?" Malfoy crossed his legs, playing easily with his wand. "Actually the old fool sold his barmy life not too bad. He even could have got our lord if he hadn't been too weak for casting a nice and clean Avadra Kevadra. Instead he only did a Reducio tempore - though I must admit he did it with style and more force as if I'd thought him able to. Yet our lord will survive and probably he'll even be able to grow our friend, his pet rat, back to his normal ugly form too - in a few weeks. Until then we'll get a bit of holidays." He rose up and now his wand pointed directly at Hermione. "I think we'll get some pleasant entertainment provided by no one other as Madame Dumbledore herself. Severus, you don't mind if I first obliviate her? You know, it's probably in her favour if she forgets all about fucking with Dumbledore. Besides - as much as I look forward to get her, I don't think her telling of this meeting would do any good."

Hermione heard how Snape started to say something, but she couldn't wait one second longer or she'd explode! Fuming wiage age she waved her wand, screaming on the top of her lung: "Expelliarmus!"

Lucius Malfoy was quick. Before the spell hit him, he blocked and fired a "stupefy" back at her. Yet Hermione hadn't trained with Harry for nothing. A quick "protecto" made golden sparks shooting from the tip of her wand, catching his spell and firing back. He was for a few seconds taken aback and this moment Hermione used for raising her wand and thundering "Cru ..."

Only she couldn't finish the curse. In the same second as she heard Snape roaring another "expelliarmus!" her wand broke lose, sailing through the air and she was hit by a "stupefy" and fell down on the ground next to her robe.

Panting and crying in frustration she looked up to Snape who towered over her. His own dark wand in his left and two others - hers and Malfoy's - in his right hand he snarled "silly girl!", pointed his wand at her and whispered: "Finite incantatum."

Hermione rose on her knees, looking furiously up to him. "Why did you stop me? He deserves it!"

"There's no doubt he does," Snape stated cold. "I only doubt Albus would have wanted you in Azkaban. And he's having such a way in always blaming me if something happens to his beloved Gryffindors ..."

"Albus!" Hermione cried, feeling totally ashamed. In her rage she'd really forgotten him for a few seconds. She jumped on her feet, snatched her wand out of Snape's hand, cried "lumos!" and dropped again, pulling her robe away by it. Right under it the white falcon laid on his side, one wing spreaded in an odd ankle, his chest covered with thick, almost black looking blood. Hermione sank down over him, braced on her elbows and sobbed, laying her head against the bird's body.

It felt warm. And more: The chest moved - a very little move, not more as a flutter, but a move nevertheless.

"He lives!" Hermione cried, shoving her hands carefully under the bird and cradling it trly rly to her breast. "Albus lives! He's injured, but ..."

"I got it." Snape sank on one knee next to her. "Can you take him to the infirmary? In the meantime I'll take care of Malfoy." 

Never before the way to the castle and up to the hospital wing had seemed this long to Hermione. Keeping the falccovecovered and warmed by her robe, to her breast, she finally arrived, calling loudly for Madame Pomfrey, the mediwitch, as she opened the door with the symbol of a wand with an aeskulap serpent twirled around. Standing in the office of the mediwitch, Hermione panted hard and was just to cal again as Poppy Pomfrey entered through a door in the back, just slipping a light blue dressing gown over her nighty, her hair lose on her shoulders.

Seeing the bird Hermione held in her arms, she shook her head. "Oh sweet Merlin - how did you acquire this? I'm not a vet, you kno."

"It's not a bird!" Hermione cried. "It's the headmaster."

"I should have known." The mediwitch opened a cabinet and took a vial out of it. "It's always Albus or Severus who get me up at night, confronting me with something I even wouldn't like when it would come on a most boring afternoon." She held the vial against the light of the chandelier and shook it lightly. Then she opened a door and waved Hermione to go through it. "Get him down there on the bed. I hardly can tend to him while he's in his animagnus form."

Hermione carefully laid the falcon down on the middle of the mattress and hesitantly stepped back as Poppy Pomfrey pushed her energetic aside. "Wait outside!" she ordered.

"No," Hermione said firmly. "I want to stay."

"Heavens! I'm to change him back, but I have to do it with a potion what means: He won't wear any robes. I don't think it's appropriate ..."

"... for Madame Dumbledore to see her husband naked?" Ses Sns Snape had arrived, leaning in the doorframe, sneering his usual sneer. "Don't be ridiculous, Poppy!"

"Severus! Don't say you got yourself injured too," the mediwitch moaned, bending over the falcon and cautiously opened his beak.

"I didn't," Snape answered. "I've only got a bite by one of Hagrid's pet spiders as I put my friend Lucius in the dark forest."

"What did you do?" Poppy Pomfrey sounded shocked. "He can die there!"

"I don't think so," Snape answered lightly, wandering in the room and seating down on a chair next to the bed. "There's no creature in the forest viler as Malfoy himself. So he'll get away - and he'll even have to tell a nice story to his master."

Poppy dropped something from the vial in the falcon's beak and sighed. "So - this will change him. What did you do to Malfoy, Severus? I mean except of putting him in the forest?"

"He wanted to obliviate Miss Granger." For the first time since Hermione's marriage he made the slip of using her old name what showed her that he was very exhausted. Yet he managed a grin. "I gave him a dose of his own medicine - I obliviated him and then I gave him another memory." Severus looked at the falcon who just seemed to grow. His feathers vanished, skin appeared, the black and white on his head shimmered silvern, the claws thickened and then it was done - instead of the falcon a pale, long body laid on the bed sidewards, his shoulder still bend in an odd angle, his silver mane hiding his face.

Hermione fell on her knees next to him. "Albus ..." she whispered and rose her hand to stroke the hair away from his face.

"Please - stay away!" the mediwitch ordered. "I have to do a diagnosis spell first." She let her wand hover over Albus's body, slowly moving it from the toes to his head, looking worried by it. "Hmm ..."

Hermione couldn't bear waiting any longer. "How is she?" she asked.

"Hmm." The mediwitch made once again. "I've seen him worse, but I'm afraid we're nevertheless in for a rough night. Severus, do you know what happened to him?"

"From what I've read in Malfoy's mind the dark lord wanted to show off again. After having Albus stunned by five of his death eaters he tried shreddening Albus. He, just casting a reducio at the dark lord and his merry men, couldn't block it entirely, but he at least managed to change and to take fly. Lucius obviously tried to hit him then flying with a Avadra Kevadra, but only got Fawkes."

"I wonder how Albus could fly ..." Poppy said, her tone full of admiration. "His shoulder is practically in pieces and he's got three broken ribs too. One of it even injured his lung. It's really a mess he's in and I wonder how he could flee in this condition." She turned and wandered to her office, rumouring in her cabinet again.

"We're talking about Albus," Severus called after her as if this would explain everything. "And by the way: He probably bought our side a little more time for preparing. From what I've found in Malfoy's memories, the dark lord is reduced in the moment. Albus obviously got enough of his magic for the dark lord not even being able to apparate in the moment. He had to use a portkey for getting away. Considered that he wasn't in a good shape before this little encounter this probably means he has to lay low for a while."

During his speech Hermione had used her chance to stroke the hair away which had covered Albus' face. Now she kneeled again next to him, watching his much too pale face with worry. His features were even more gaunt as she remembered them, his lips looked bloodless and almost as white as the beard surrounding them and his eyes laid in their caves.

Poppy Pomfrey was back, carrying a tray with some vials on it. She put it one the night stand and bent once again over Albus. "Severus?" she asked by it. Snape jumped to his feet and came to the bed, limping heavily. "What's with your leg?" The mediwitch asked.

"Later." Snape only replied and helped her to turn Albus around so that he laid on his back.

"Thanks." Poppy let her wand once again over Albus' chest, which showed a dark red bruise. She murmured an incantation and immediately Albus breathed more easy. "So - that was the lung," Poppy stated satisfied. "Getting more air will probably already do the trick ..."

And in fact, Albus' eyelids flattered already, he moaned once, his lips became firm, then he opened his yes, only for closing them again and moaning anew.

"Welcome back, Albus," the mediwitch said, the relief clearly in her voice and smile. "How do you feel?"

"Uuh ..." Albus opened his eyes again. "I think I could feel worse ..." he whispered.

"Yes," Snape admitted dryly. "You could be death, you know."

"How's Fawkes?" Albus asked, his voice hardly more then a hoarse whisper.

"He's fine. I've made him a nest out of my cloak, so he's sleeping now," Severus answered.

Hermione couldn't speak. She wanted to say something, she wanted to tell him how happy she was for him being back, but her voice didn't obey her. She only could grip his hand, sobbing heavily by it. Albus tried to turn his head in her direction, but Poppy stopped him: "Don't you dare to try moving before I've fed you a painkiller! I don't want you to pass out again. So ..." Taking one of the bottles from the tray and opening it, she pushed her free hand under his neck and helped him to raise his head for swallowing the content of the bottle.

Albus made a face by it and grumbled a "bah!"

"Don't tell me you'd rather have a lemon drop," Poppy said crisply and took another bottle. "You have to drink some skel grow first."

"Icks!" Albus moaned, but bravely opened his mouth.

"Hermione?" Poppy asked, looking to the still crying girl. "I need a hand. Can you help Albus to sit up so that I can plaster his shoulder and mend his ribs?"

Hermione was glad for having to do something, so she jumped on her feet, pushing her arm under Albus' healthy shoulder. He tried a weak smile on her, but couldn't say anything and became very pale again as Hermione helped him to rose his upper body. Leaning heavily against her, he struggled for breath and only after a few seconds he managed to say: "It seems I'm really too old for such stunts."

"Oh - you're coming to sense?" Severus asked ironically. "Does this mean you'll stop strolling around on your own, fighting a dozen death eaters just for entertainment?"

"Actually," Albus answered, his head again Hermione's shoulder, "death eaters aren't my idea of entertainment. I'd really rather given Hermione a lesson in transfiguration."

"Oh, don't worry about your wife's education," Snape said, seating down again and pulling up his trouser's leg. "She'd just got a little exercise in Defense Against The Dark Arts."

Hermione bit on her tongue and tried to catch Snape's eyes, but he was looking at his leg now. She hoped fiercely that he wouldn't tell the headmaster that he'd kept her back from using an unforgivable on Lucius Malfoy. Seeing the thick drops on sweat on Albus' pale forehead she didn't think he should worry about this in the moment. Later, when he was better, she would confess.

Poppy was ready now with plastering Albus' shoulder and chest. Looking in his eyes, she said firmly: "Now I'll mend your ribs. Afterwards you'll be a good boy and drink a sleeping draught. Your body needs rest - and I promise you: I'll chain you to this bed if you try to get up before I give you permission to. In the contrast to you I don't believe the wizard's world will collapse in the moment you look away from it for a few days. And yes, I know Hogwarts needs you - but it needs you healthy and in full use of your limbs."

"Poppy ..." Albus produced a look Hermione would have laughed at if her heart wouldn't have been so heavy - and if she'd ever knew of a puppy with blue eyes. "Couldn't I have the rest at least in my quarters? You know I don't like it here."

"Oh heavens - you're worse then Severus!" Poppy looked to the potion master who just tried to hide his wand. "And you don't dabble around with this leg of yours! You'll only made it worse and that means I'll get you a bed next to Albus." She waved her wand like a sword. "You're really a nightmare to a hard working mediwitch - both of you!" Having said her say, she started tending to Albus again, healing his broken ribs, feeding him another vial and finally signalling Hermione to lay him down again. "Good night, Albus," she said then, almost tenderly. "Severus - just you go to my office. I'll see to your leg there. And you ..." she turned to Hermione, still seating on Albus' bedside, "will go to bed now."

"I don't want to leave," Hermione said, raising and looking firmly in the mediwitch's eyes. "Please, let me stay."

"Oh sweet Merlin ..." Poppy sighed.

"Hermione." Albus' voice was already thick with sleep. "You need a rest. So off you go ..."

"Please!" Hermione repeated. She simply couldn't leave - the horror of almost losing Albus sat too deep.

Obviously Poppy Pomfrey understood. Sighing again, she raised her wand and directed it at the chair Severus had used earlier. With a quick incantation she changed it to a second, small bed, summoned a woolen blanket and a pillow from a cupboard and nodded satisfied. "If you need me, just call. And now good night and sweet dreams!" She blew out most of the candles, letting only one at Albus' night stand alight, then she marched through the door, closing it quietly behind her.

Hermione sank down on the bed next to Albus' and shyly took his long, slender hand in hers. Kissing it, she almost jumped as she heard his voice again: "Sleep, darling. It was a long day ..."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Fights and friendship

Somewhere, far away, a clock chimed - not very loud a sound, but in its gravity enough to knock Hermione out of the light sleep she was sleeping on the bed next to Albus'. She wasn't too unhappy about because the dream she had dreamt, had been disturbing. She'd seen Albus - not the old one in the bed next to her, but the strong, young Albus of the night before - laying at her feet in a pool of blood and the blood had floated over her naked feet and a part of her had wished to run away while another, stronger part had commanded her to stay and to protect the pale body of her lover against the dark shadows which where around him, coming closer and gripping with hands like claws to him. She'd threw herself over him, crying and kissing his cold mouth and at this moment he'd opened his eyes and they had been his old eyes, pale with age and endlessly tired and sad and then he'd spoken - and he hadn't sounded like Albus, but like Severus, silken and forbidding in the same time: "Don't love me for I am ..."

Just this moment the clock had chimed and now Hermione sat on her small bed, sweating and her heart hammering hard and fast in her breast. Taking a deep breath, she looked over to the bed and the sleeping form of her husband. The enchanted candle on the night stand lightened only over his head and the heavily plastered chest and shoulder, the sight under it was dark. But there was a dark shadow on Albus' chest and looking up to it Hermione saw that she wasn't alone at her husband's bedside.

Opposite of her on the other side, almost melting into the darkness behind him, sat Severus Snape on a high backed chair, his head resting sideward, his black hair falling over his face as a curtain. But what touched Hermione most about the potion master's posture was that his left hand laid on the bed, the tips of his fingers just touching - almost shyly as if they wouldn't dare making closer contact - a strand of Albus' long hair. Hermione felt a rush of affection to the dark man opposite her she'd never thought she'd be capable off - especially not about a man who had been the incarnation of an unfair, arrogant and injustice bastard to her. Even in defending him against Ron and Harry, she'd often doubt his ability in feeling something other as hatred, anger and dismay. But now she was sure she'd never doubt his humanity again.

"He loves Albus," Hermione thought. "He loves him as much as I do."

Huuh? What had this been? Hermione sat straight on the bed, swallowing hard. Had she really just thought of loving the headmaster? Shaking her head, she tried thinking it again: "I love Albus." It felt odd - odd because it didn't feel wrong! Hermione, analytic girl she was, tried again, but this time with "I care for the headmaster". Yes, this felt better. So to the next tray: "I admire Albus Dumbledore." Right again, but there was still something more to it as "adoring". Or did admiration include a flattering in the stomach by thinking of the adored? Hermione didn't think so and closed her eyes again for looking deeper in herself and to this flattering. An image sprang to mind - the image of a man with auburn hair and azure blue eyes, smiling down on her and laying his head back then, moaning. And with this image memories of touches, on a mouth on her breast, of fingers stroking her, of being filled - memories she'd tried to avoid thinking of all day long - suddenly popped up and played havoc with her entire body. Despite of being cramped and exhausted and feeling sticky and dirty Hermione suddenly felt a shot of arousing running through her. It made her body hum with desire, her nipples came to live, prickling and pressing against the fabric of the school uniform she still wore. "This," thought Hermione wdistdistant amusement, "probably answers the question at least partly: I lust after Albus - my Albus, the young one."

But did this desire make for loving him? Hermione wasn't sure about. She'd watched her former dormitory mates so often falling in and out with what they called "love", she simply couldn't believe in things like "I want sex with him, so I must be in love with him" anymore. Passion - so much Hermione, through hardly 18 years old, had already understood, didn't come automatically with love. But what when the passion for a man was connected with caring for him, with respecting and adoring him?

Hermione wasn't sure what this meant, but she was willing to sort it out - methodically as she always did. First thing probably was to define love. Hermione remembered that she'd tried that once before as a small girl when talking with her mother. Her mother had talked about caring and feeling responsible, about understanding or at least the wish to understand the object of love, about feeling close and about enjoying time with it.

Care? Check - Hermione was certain, she cared for Albus - and yes, this meant both of them, the strong lover from the last night and the almost fragile looking old headmaster in the bed next to her.

Did she feel responsible for him? Hermione chewed for a moment on her under lip - as always when thinking hard - then she nodded. Yes, as funny as it would sound if she would have to explain it to Harry, Ron or Ginny: She felt responsible for Albus - responsible without doubting that he was highly capable in looking after himself - if he wasn't just been attacked by a dozen of death eaters and their monstrous semi god.

To her next point: Understanding. Hermione was - and not only in remembering his sphinx face from the morning - pretty sure that she didn't understand him. For this she didn't know him well enough and for this she probably was too young. He had almost 150 years of experience ahead and Hermione didn't doubt that he had used his brilliant mind during this time. So his decisions, his doings and avoids, based on more as she could already comprehend. But this didn't change the fact that she actually wished to understand him better that she longed to learn more about him and - yes, this lead to the next point - that she wanted to come closer to him. He was the most fascinating person she'd ever set eyes on and yes; she did enjoy time with him. Okay, she hadn't enjoyed breakfast this morning, she hadn't liked being paraded on his arm through the entire school, but she had looked forward all day to the evening - and not only because she wanted to learn about becoming an animagnus, but because doing so meant time with Albus.

Did this mean that she loved him? Still Hermione wasn't sure, but just in this moment Albus began to stir and tried to turn around in his sleep, moaning by it. Immediately Hermione and Snape were on their legs, bending over the bed.

"Albus?" Snape whispered.

Albus opened his eyes and tried again to turn, but his plastered shoulder didn't support him and he fell back with another moan.

"I don't think it's a good idea to turn over your injured side," Snape said calmly.

"Severus!" Albus fixed his eyes on him. "What you're doing here?"

"I try to knit socks," Snape answered with his usual sarcasm. "Really, Albus - how does it look like?"

"Honestly?" Albus tried a smile and a twinkle. "I think it looks like glucking over me." He tried to raise his upper body and to reach for the water can on his night stand.

Hermione was quicker. "Let me help you," she said, purring water in a glass and supporting his head with one hand while the other put the glass to his lips.

"I think your wife's better in glucking as I ever could be," Snape stated dryly and seated himself again.

"Don't say 'how Gryffindor of her'!" Albus warned with a smile, feeling obviously better after the two gulps of the fresh water. "If my skin wouldn't itch so much under thissterstered plaster, I'd probably enjoy laying here with Hermione glucking over me."

"You know I'm getting always toothache when I have to swallow too many sweets?" Severus asked.

"Oh, by talking about sweets ..." Albus looked to Severus, now really grinning. ""You don't have by any chance some chocolate with you? I could do with a bit."

"No, I haven't." Snape rose. "But because you've already disturbed my beauty sleep and I know, you won't stop bothering before you've got what you want, I'll fetch you some." He sounded like a father who didn't want to admit how much he loved his child and Hermione had to stop herself from giggling as the potion master limbed out of the room.

The moment the door clicked behind him, Albus gripped Hermione's hand and looked very seriously to her. "I need to know: Did you encounter any death eaters as you found me? Was Severus seen by them?"

"Yes. We met Lucius Malfoy and he even had some kind of fight with him." Hermione blushed and swallowed hard. "I ..." she stammered, "I became furious and if Professor Snape wouldn't have taken both our wands ... I mean, Malfoy's and mine ..." swallowing again, she quietly said: "I was just firing a crucio at Malfoy ..."

Albus closed his eyes and sighed. "I hate what this war makes out of us," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry ..." Hermione hang her head because she didn't want to see disappointment in his eyes.

"Hermione ..." Albus' voice sounded urgently. "We'll have to talk about that later. Just in the moment I need your opinion: Did Severus blew his cover?"

"Yes." Hermione nodded. "Yes, I think he did. I mean, he protected me against Malfoy. Yet he says he obliviated him afterwards ..."

For a few seconds Albus was silent. Then he said slowly: "I don't trust obliviating spells - at least not so much I'd risk a life on it. So it's finally over." He sighed once again, then he smiled weakly. "Actually I'm glad about. Only ..." he looked seriously again. "The next weeks we will have to look after Severus closely, Hermione. He's grounded now in the castle and I don't think he's going to like it much." He wanted to say something else, but Severus Snape was back, two steaming mugs in his hand. He handed one to Hermione, then he bent down over the bed and helped Albus up, settling him carefully against the pillows and then helped him to drink the hot chocolate.

Hermione drank too - and the hot liquid tasted like heaven with sugar and cinnamon! "That's delicious!" she said amazed. "I didn't know chocolate tastes so great."

Snape sneered. "In case you've forgotten: I'm a potion master. As such I should be able to prepare hot chocolate, shouldn't I?" He didn't wait for an answer, but put Albus now empty cup to the night stand, helped his headmaster lay down again, tucked the blanket a bit higher on his friend's chest and said crisply: "And now after you've got what you wanted, we can go back to sleep. Mistress Granger's expected to a potion class in the morning and I don't want her to fall over her cauldron." 

Advanced potions, arithmancy, history of magic - actually Hermione had always thought of Thursday as the day with the easiest schedule. Yet on this morning she'd felt like she'd been the ball in a giant's tennis match. Her back ached, her neck was cramped and she was so tired she hadn't been - something what never had happened to her before - only sleeping through Professor Binn's lesson, she'd ever been the first student which's head had sunk on the table. Luckily, Binns, being a ghost didn't mind sleeping students - probably, as Ron sometimes reckoned, because he'd never seen a class of him not snoring and dosing with their heads on the desks. Yet resting in such a dreadful position didn't help Hermione's back and so she felt pretty stiff as Binn's class was finally over and she wandered - once again flanked by Ron and Harry - down the marble staircase. By entering the great hall she immediately became wide awake. In the morning as she'd came to breakfast, everything had felt quite normal with students chatting and china clattering. But now the tension, hanging like a big grey cloud under the enchanted ceiling, looking grey and clouded like the sky outside too - was almost palpable. Hogwarts' grape mill, feed by the morning mail, was in full swung and Hermione felt once again watched by hundred of eyes. She'd hardly sat herself down as Cevin Cooley a fifth year famous as much for his curiosity as his lack of tact, shot over the table: "Is it true, Hermione?"

"What?" she asked back tiredly.

"That the headmaster killed 20 death eaters single-handed, made He-who-must-no-be-named flee and then almost died on you!" The hall had fallen silent as the boy had started.

Hermione sighed. She wa sur sure what to answer and therefore very glad to hear Snape's voice, heavy with sarcasm: "It's not true," he said. "It was 22 ½ death eaters and Professor Dumbledore didn't kill them, but changed them to chorus girls in pink ties. Afterwards he taught them tango and by doing so he suddenly became aware that flirting with chorus girls isn't appropriate for a newly wedded wizard. So he fled, letting the dark lord back with the lot. Until now it's not known what happened then, but one normally very well informed sources states, that the death eaters chorus girls and their master are now on a tour through Japanese night clubs."

A few first years at the Hufflepuff table giggled, Hermione felt her mouth twitch too. She discovered that she actually liked Snape's razorblade tongue - as long as he didn't direct his acerbic wit at her.

Obviously Minerva McGonagall wasn't a big fan of it. Sweeping through the hall as if she'd were on wheels, she provided Snape, standing at the Gryffindor table, with one of her very stern gazes, then she climbed - her lips not more as a small line in the bony face - up to the head table and looked down at the students. The hall became immediately quiet again; every one seemed to wait for what the deputy headmistress had to say - except of a Slytherin group around Draco Malfoy. The blond young man tried to look bored as if all the rumours wouldn't concern him, but Hermione meant to see something in his pale, grey eyes, so alike to the cruel eyes of his father. It wasn't the usual arrogance and it even wasn't the hatred she was used to get directed at her from him. It was - Hermione first couldn't believe it, but looking closer to him made her secure about: Draco Malfoy's eyes showed fear.

Minerva McGonagall had started to speak. "As some of you already know: The headmaster was attacked last night." The hall became excited again, some students whispered to each other, Hermione heard a first year girl sob and somebody said, almost triumphant: "Didn't I tell you?" Then Minerva's voice sounded again: "But there's no reason to worry. Professor Dumbledore is already quite well again. I just saw him and he asked me to give you all his regards. I'm sure he'll be with us again very soon." She sat down, but not without sending Hermione an encouraging, little nod.

The dishes filled, Hermione slowly began to eat, but didn't really notice on what she was chewing.

"Hermione?" Harry, seating next to her, whispered. "Will you see the headmaster later?"

"Hmm," she nodded. "I think I'll visit him after lunch."

Harry mumbled on a potato, looking down on his plate. "I don't know if he's keen on it - if yif you like or ..." he swallowed and spoke quietly further, "... if you think he'd like it ..." Now he fell silent.

Hermione suppressed a sigh. She knew only too well that Harry's relationship with Albus was difficult. It had been Dumbledore who had placed baby Harry after the death of his parents at the threshold of his muggle relatives, using an ancient blood binding charm to guarantee his security. Yet the praise Harry had paid for this security - the aunt and the u he he grew up with despised the very idea of magic and so they'd never cared for Harry, but treated him with suspicion and dismay. Hermione, who had been the beloved child of caring parents, couldn't imagine how Harry had felt by living in a cup board under the stairs at his relative's house - but she could imagine how hard it was for Harry not only to understand why Dumbledore had done this to him, but to trust him nevertheless. And even worse: In Harry's fifth year as Voldemort hriedried to possess him, the headmaster hadn't confide in him whey he wanted to learn Harry occlumeny and why he'd avoided to look Harry in the eyes. Hermione knew that Albus only had done so because he wanted to spare Harry the entire, terrible truth and she knew that Harry was aware of the headmaster's reasons too. But as Hermione knew from own experience: To know - even to understand something intellectually - was one thing. To accept it emotionally was another thing. And in this case Albus' silence - by Harry probably still counted as "lack of trust" - had led to an event which caused at the end the death of Harry's godfather. Even after two years Harry mourned for him, blaming himself for Sirius' death - and probably the headmaster too.

Carefully, Hermione said: "Shall I tell him something from you?"

Harry nodded eage obv obviously relieved because he hadn't to ask for it. "Yes," he said. "Tell him ..." He searched for words again, picking at a potato and mumbling finally: "Tell him he shall get well soon. He's missed, you know?"

After this Hermione suddenly felt better. She knew that this greeting from Harry would mean a lot to Albus and she almost couldn't wait to tell him. So she skipped dessert and without even getting her heavy satchel back to her study, started to the infirmary, feeling as though a magnet would pull her. It only had been a few hours since she'd left Albus' side, but he'd still slept then and so she hadn't spoken with him on this day.

Panting from running up the stairs Hermione arrived in the hospital wing and stormed through Poppy Pomfrey's deserted office to the door of the private ward the mediwitch had Albus placed in. Hermione knocked, but there came no answer. Once again she knocked, calling "Albus?" Still no answer. Panic overcame Hermione. She remembered how pale and small Albus had looked in the morning. So she opened the door with so much force she almost fell in the chamber behind. By stumbling in she saw the bed - empty, a white line covering it.

Hermione broke down. Falling on the bed, she sobbed in the cool, crisp linen.

"Mistress Granger?"

Hermione didn't hear the voice Severus Snape who'd just entered. Her entire body was shaken by her crying and she coughed and struggled for breath by it.

"Silly girl!" Snape said, but without any malice. He stopped closer and laid a hand on her shoulder.

Hermione throw herself around and - to Snape's surprise - landed on his chest, clinging with both hands to the fabric of his robe, sobbing ever harder. For a few seconds the potion master only stood there, looking down to the crying girl as if he couldn't believe what he saw. Then he sighed, sank on the bedside and laid her arms around her, hesitantly stroking her trembling back.

"Hermione," he said then, his voice warmer as Hermione had ever heard it before. "The headmaster is much better. He even felt well enough for pestering Madame Pomfrey until she released him to his chambers. She's just helping him to get there ..."

Hermione raised her head, looking up to him out of red and swollen eyes. Sniffl{ng she said, sounding like a very small child. "Albus is ..?"

"... by now probably in his bed, or better said, in yours. Knowing him I suppose he's already so bored that he'd enjoy getting company."

Hermione felt as if the room suddenly had become brighter, only she couldn't stop crying. Fighting against the tears, she let Snape's robe out of her grip and backed away. "I'm sorry," she sniffled. "I slobbered all over you. You must think me very silly indeed."

"I don't," said Snape, sounding cold again. "Yet I don't think coming to Albus looking like a wailing crooner after a storm won't do." With one swmomemoment he pulled his wand out, directed it at Hermione's face and murmured an incantation. She felt the effect immediately: Her eyes didn't burn anymore and her face became cooler and more relaxed.

Snape rose, taking Hermione's bag. He wrinkled his forehead by doing so, grumbled "Why did you learn levitating charms if you don't know how to use them?" and once again waved his wand. The bag jumped and hovered next to him as he pushed his wand back in his sleeve and marched to the door. "I'll accompany you to the main tower," he announced by that.

Hermione jumped to her feet and ran after him. "Thank you, Professor Snape," she said quietly as she had finally arrived next to him. "For everything."

Snape didn't answer until they reached the painting of the piano player in the gallery. There he gave Hermione's bag a little push what made it fly to her, turned around and only said, without looking at her: "Try to get some rest."

Although the archway in the wall had already opened Hermione didn't enter immediately. She looked after the dark shape which was Severus Snape how it swept down the gallery as if he were on a run. And probably, she thought, as she finally stepped on to the spiralling staircase, he really was. The last two days hadn't only changed her, but his life too. He wasn't the order's spy any longer - after the events of the last night Albus wouldn't send him back to Voldemort again. From now on Severus Snape hadn't to lead a double life any longer - and Hermione wondered how he would cope with being grounded in the castle, almost a prisoner, waiting for the day he'd finally had to fight against people who once had been his house mates and perhaps even something considered as friends. And how he'd live from now on with his Slytherins, knowing that some of them would take up the dark mark as soon as they were out of school, knowing that some of them had death eater parents who probably wanted to kill their children's head of house?

Hermione sighed. Compared to Snape's life her own suddenly seemed an easy one. She had friends who loved and supported her. She had a husband who cared for her and she had some thing Snape certainly n had had possessed: Hope and the firm believe that one day soon the war would be over and life - not only hers, but the life of all people she cared about - would get back to a normally in which teenagers didn't discuss how to fight against an evil enemy, but who'd ask them out for a date and what to wear at them.

Arriving at the bed room, Hermione was welcomed with a warm smile from Albus and a dry "Ah - here you are!" from Poppy Pomfrey who'd just put an entire collection of vials to a little table next to the bed. "Albus already worried about you."

"Sorry - I was first in the infirmary," Hermione said, put her bag down in a corner and walked to the bed where Albus laid, his upper body still bare except of the plaster which held his injured left arm firmly in place over his chest. He was still pale and the wrinkles in his face looked sharper and deeper as Hermione remembered them, but at least his eyes, now again behind the halfmoon spectacles, had gotten their usual twinkle back. Braced on some thick pillows he patted with his healthy hand against the mattress next to him and said: "Sit down, child. You look as you could do with some rest."

"How do you feel?" Hermione asked, seating down on the bed cautiously. Her heart jumped in her chest as one of his long fingers touched her hand and she was glad she didn't have to look in his eyes because by now the mediwitch spoke again.

"Our dear header ier is already well enough to drive me crazy," she complained. "He didn't want to stay in the informatory though eh actually still belongs there. He didn't want to eat the soup I ordered him although I don't think his stomach is up to more after all the potions I filled it with. You know, Albus, you're an even worse patient as your potion master and I've always thought it would be him who'd make me ask for a nice, quiet bed at St. Mungo's one day."

"Dear Poppy ..." Albus tried his most charming smile at the fuming witch. "If you'd get me something tastier as this insipid soup I promise I'll be a good boy, drinking all potions without further complaints and not moving until you allow it."

"Oh sweet Merlin! What did I do to deserve that?" Poppy wrung her hands, then she sighed. "Well, well, Albus - you've won, but only because I know not only you, but your young wife needs rest. I'll get you a nice rice pudding - you like rice pudding, don't you? But afterwards I won't hear another word from you until dinner time. You will sleep and give your body a fair chance to heal properly. Is that understood?"

Albus nodded, looking entirely satisfied. "I'm fond on rice pudding," he said.

Poppy Pomfrey nodded and went to the fire place, ringing the little bell on the mantle piece. With a "pop" Woopy appeared, bowing eagerly. "Woopy, would you kindly order some rice pudding for your master?" Poppy asked her.

"I is flying to serve!" the house elf cried delighted and with another "pop" she was gone.

Madame Pomfrey turned around and looked at Hermione, still seating on the bed. "And now to you, young lady. You look as you'd break down every moment I really don't need another member of the Dumbledore family as a patient right now. So you'll get yourself some rest too. Admittedly ...," she looked to the bed, wrinkled her forehead and raised her wand, "sleeping in one bed with Albus won't do. He's always fussing and would disturb your slumber with it and you shouldn't bump at his newly melted bones. So ..." with a quick wave she conjured a smaller bed, looking very much like the bed in her hospital, next to the huge one. "Off you go to the bathroom - and I don't want to see up before tomorrow in the morning."

As Hermione, freshly showered and now wearing her pyjamas and her dressing gown, came back to the bed room, Poppy was gone, but Woopy was there, bending over Albus and carrying a bow with rice pudding. Yet her keeping the bowl and Albus his spoon didn't look every comfortable for either of them and so Hermione stepped to the bed, sat down and took bowl and spoon, saying: "Please let me help you."

Woopy jumped up and bowed again. "May Woopy do something else for you, master, mistress?"

"Thank you, Woopy - I don't think we need anything else in the moment," Albus answered kindly.

The house elf disappeared and Hermione filled the spoon with pudding, bringing it in front of Albus' mouth. Smiling to her he opened it, chewed, swallowed and said: "That's much better as the soup Poppy's always hunting me with. Do you want a bit of it too?"

"No, thanks," Hermione answered, feeding him the next bite. "I've had lunch in the hall and ..." the next bite landed in his mouth, "Harry asked me to give you his regards."

Albus looked for a moment sceptical as if he wouldn't believe her, but then he smiled. "When you see him next time - will you tell him that his regards were appreciated?"

"I will." Hermione gave him the next bite and noticed that feeding the headmaster didn't feel odd. It actually felt good to seat here with him, watching how he enjoyed the sweet pulp.

And obviously he liked it too because after swallowing another bite he suddenly laughed. "You know, you spoil me?"

"I think you deserve a bit spoiling," Hermione answered, thinking of all the years he'd lived alone in this chambers. She had never thought about him as being lonely before, but - who had looked after him in former times? "By the way - where's Fawkes?" she asked.

"After a burning he always needs a bit of extra attention," Albus answered. "So I asked Severus to look after him. The both get along very well. I think they'll do each other good."

"I'm glad Fawkes is with the professor," Hermione said quietly, feeding Albus the last bite of the rice pudding. "Shall I get you more?"

"No, thanks - I'm quite full and by now really a bit tired."

"Then rest." Hermione rose and put the empty bowl on the table in front of the fire. As she turned back, Albus was just moving closer to the left bedside. Almost a bit sheepish he said: "Poppy was wrong. I don't fuss in sleep." He stretched his healthy arm to the now empty place next to him. "So if you'd like to lay down here? I mean ..." now a little pink appeared in his cheeks, "Poppy's beds aren't very comfortable."

"But I really shouldn't bump in you ..." Hermione wanted very much to lie at his side and she felt deeply moved by his wish to have her there, but the idea of hurting him she strongly disliked.

"This side of mine isn't injured," Albus said. "You may bump on it as often as you like."

"Madame Pomfrey certainly wouldn't approve," Hermione said, but climbed already in the bed on his right side, stretching down under the blanket Albus had lifted for her.

He chuckled. "Who are we to share the secrets of our marriage bed with Poppy? She won't ask and we won't tell ..."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Birds of different feathers ...

"Nothing ages more quickly as news." Walking in the great hall on the morning of her 18. birthday, Hermione suddenly remembered her husband saying so. She first hadn't believed him, but as she now sat down on her place at the Gryffindor table, she found, that he'd been right ag Her Her entrance didn't cause looks and whispering anymore - the sensation of having a head girl - and yes, she still wore the badge because Minerva had with a swift "I would want to see some one daring to accuse Albus of nepotism!" refused to take it back - married to the headmaster had ebbed away. And actually, Hermione thought, this didn't only concern her school mates, but Hermione herself too. After only eight days of marriage a certain routine had settled in - a routine, on the first sight so perfectly satisfying, that even Harry, after Hermione had told him about in a long talk, didn't looked worried at her anymore. He'd even said: "I'm glad this ..." he still had a problem with the word "marriage" connected to the living arrangement his best friend and the headmaster, "works so well for you."

Only Hermione wasn't "glad". She blamed herself heavily for not feeling so, she argued with herself, she even named herself an "ungrateful bitch", she kept telling herself that living with Albus Dumbledore was certainly not worse then living, often lonely in the head girl's chamber, that it sometimes even was more fun and laughter as she had have in years for Albus was not only kind and treating her with more courtesy as she could ever have got from a boy her age, but he was mostly cheerful and he obviously liked to spoil her with flowers and gifts.

Yet these gifts, Hermione thought, showed just the problem she was chewin bec because after his first one - the study with the wonderful little library - she'd never got something she found suiting her. In moments of feeling sarcastic - and Hermione had have so much of them over the last days she already believed that spending pretty much time in the always acerbic potion master's company already hubbeubbed off on her - Hermione rather felt as if her husband would work himself through a "How to make my witch happy" book of the rather cheap sort because the witches this book knew about were obviously the Lavender Browns or Narcissa Malfoys of this world - women only interested in her appearance and measuring their husband's affection on the money he spend on their gifts.

Yet Hermione Granger wasn't interested much in Parisian dress robes - though she'd to admit that the one she had found just this morning on her bedside, decorated with a note saying "Happy birthday anve ave a nice party - A." was rather a glorious piece. If she'd wear it after using the "witch's very dream" hair potion (the gift she'd got at the morning before and it was a rather beautiful vial it was in), perfumed with "Enchante de Paris" (out of a truly lovely glass flagon which had appeared at her potion notes as she'd opened them in her study only two days before) and with the necklace (opals and diamonds again, suiting her ring) Albus had given her on the evening after the attack, she certainly would make a stunning impression. Perhaps this was what he wanted? Hermione didn't know, but she knew that in this sector she wouldn't even try. She was Hermione Granger, the bushy haired Gryffindor bookworm with ink spots on her finger, a quill in her hair and academic challenges in her mind - and if this Hermione Granger didn't suit Albus Dumbledore's ideas about his wife, she couldn't help it.

She remembered only too well that she'd promised to respect him - and yes, this certainly meant she have to try fulfilling his wishes too, but he'd promised the same to her - and she couldn't remember she'd heard something like "respect her if she changes to become a creation of yours". The very idea of doing so made her furious - so furious she sometimes wanted to shout at him. Only she didn't dare - and not only because he still wasn't only her husband, but the headmaster she'd learned to adore and to respect more as ever other living soul, but because she knew herself too well. If she'd break through the barrier their mutual politeness had built between them, she wouldn't stop at telling him that she disliked being treat as she'd got no brain, but she'd probably even tell him that she'd almost wished him back on his sickbed because by then she'd felt close to him.

Even now the memory of the hours th spe spent together recuperating after the attack was very precious to her. Almost everyningning when laying next to him in bed - next to him, but not close anymore because he now always kept space between them - she comforted herself with reliving this moments again: The sweet little flirting while she'd fed him his pudding, how he'd invited her at his side and she'd fallen asleep, her head on his healthy shoulder, her hand on his cheek and his smell in her nose, feeling sheltered and happy; his defiant "If I may remind you: We're lawfully wedded", as Poppy Pomfrey had "caught" them in their embrace - and Poppy hadn't ranted, but only smiled - and later this evening after they'd had a "picnic in bed" - sandwiches with delicious smoked salmon for Hermione and a fluffy omelette for Albus - he'd asked her to help him entangle his hair. Because she'd always liked brushing hers the muggle way better as doing it with magic, she'd offered him a brushing too and he'd happily agreed, once again purring and moaning in pleasure while she'd worked on his silver mane - and oh, how much she'd enjoyed feeling the silken strands under her fingers, smelling of his unique scent. After almost half one hour of brushing and entangling tenderly she'd finally bound the hair back to a pony tail, teasing him that his hair needed more time as most women's. The evening had ended with her falling asleep in his arm again.

As she'd come back from class the next day, he'd been still in bed, but freed from the bandage and - with Woopy assisting him - working through a huge pile of mail. Hermione, not wanting to bother him while he worked, had retired to her study, doing her home work. Once again at this afternoon she'd looked after him, but by then Minerva had sat in a chair next to the bed, talking school's business with him. So Hermione were gone for dinner in the hall. Afterwards coming back, hoping for an evening with Albus, she'd found Snape in the bedroom and he hadn't looked as if he'd like her to become a participant in his conversation with Albus.

The day after Albus had been out of bed again - and since then Hermione had only seen him once for more as a polite inquiry after her well-being as he'd given her a lesson in becoming an animagnus. This two hours - though spent in his office - had been fun because Hermione hadn't only got to enjoy a little insight in the working of a brilliant wizard's mind, but enjoyed how he was ableconnconnect teaching and learning with having fun. She'd always thought of Minerva McGonagall's stern teaching methods highly, she'd even sometimes found Molly Weasley's swarming about Albus Dumbledore as transfiguration teacher slightly overdone - but after her lesson with him she found herself in league with Molly, although adoring Albus as a teacher too didn't help her much. On the contrary - Hermione found, that missing the closeness of her first days was more then enough. She really didn't need longing for getting at least his attention as her mentor on top of the cake, especially because it had already a layer Hermione firmly tried avoid thinking of: sex.

Until now Lucius Malfoy - though it was said that he was back in his mansion - hadn't budged in matters of the marriage law. This meant - at least in theory - that Hermione and Albus weren't bound to the "twice a month" rule. Yet in actual practise Hermione thought it unwise to give Malfoy and the ministry a chance to get the couple. So sooner or later Hermione and Albus would have to do their "marital duty" again - and this was something Hermione really didn't want to think of because the very thought of it made her aware of something which hurt her pride: Despite the circumstances, despite the fact that she actually was angry with him - she longed for his touch so much it almost hurt. When lying in the bed next to him, smelling his scent and feeling his warmth despite the distance he was keeping, her body became wide awake, remembering the handsome young man who so very much excited and pleased it. The need had became so strong by now, that Hermione this morning had given in and pleased herself while in the bath tube, dreaming of Albus' hand stroking her instead of her own, imaging his mouth on her breast and his cock moving inside her. This fantasy had given her a brain-shattering climax in which she'd found herself screaming his name. Afterwards she'd been only too glad that he again had left their rooms before her. She really didn't want to look in his eyes after what she'd just done.

As her thinking had reached the point, making her afraid of blushing, she heard the door behind the head table click, a first year Hufflepuff - as all first years seating on the upper end of his house table, directly under the eyes of the teachers - chirped a "Good morning, Professor Dumbledore", other students followed and Albus' voice, as always a bit hoarse, but firm, greeted back with a benevolent: "Good morning, dears." He sat down, looking once again like the very model of an imposing headmaster with a midnight blue robe, the hems decorated with embroidered golden stars. He hardly had sipped at his tea cup as Professor Sprout already bent to him, telling something what made him smile and clap his hands and through the chatter of the hall Hermione heard him say: "Excellent, dear Dee, excellent! I look forward to a visit in your green house, only I'm afraid I won't manage today for I must go away for a meeting." Hermione suppressed a sigh. He'd already told her so the evening before, apologizing for not being with here on her birthday, but suggesting she should invite her friends for a "party" in the evening. So she'd done almost defiant though she actually never had been keen on parties. Yet if he wished her to, she'd celebrate a party - and she was fiercely determined not to leave the Gryffindor common room before midnight.

"Happy birthday, Hermione!" Ron, Harry and Ginny had arrived, carrying a package, wrapped in red and golden paper. It was so long Ron had to carry one end while Harry kept the other and it needed Neville and Lavender clearing the table to make space for it.

Hermione hugged her friends and looked to the package with huge eyes. "What's that?" she asked.

"I'd say, it's a birthday gift. But if you're not in need for one, you only have to say. We'll certainly find a poor house elf who'd appreciate it," Harry joked, pulling at the package.

Hermione slapped his hand. "Don't you dare, Harry Potter! It's mine and you know I love getting gifts. What is in it?" She asked eagerly.

Ron grinned, stroking the package proudly. "You know, we did hard thinking. We couldn't give you a book this year because you've already got half a bookshop of your own ..."

Hermione laughed, turning her eyes. "In the contrast to you, Ronald Weasley, I don't think you can't give people a book because they possess one already."

Ron didn't let her spoil his mood. Grinning even more, he proceeded: "Anyway - we didn't want to give you a book. We thought you'd deserve something to have fun with. And after we've got a nice donation to our Hermione's birthday fond ..." his glance went for a moment to the head table where Albus sat and smiled over the rim of his spectacles down to the group, "we made a visit in Diagon Alley and ..."

"No!" Hermione cried, ogling over the form of the package. "Don't say you've got me a broomstick! You know I hate flying."

"Isn't it a pity?" Harry said. "We'd really like to take you on a ride today - only you and Ron and Ginny and me and a speedy firebolt."

"Oh thank you very much, but I don't think falling down from a firebolt makes a difference to falling down from one of the old school brooms," Hermione said and started to unwrap the package. Yet under the first paper she found another layer - golden with red polka dots and a note: "Precious girls deserve precious gifts. Precious gifts deserve precious packing ..." Unwrapping the second layer Hermione found a lovely box with red and golden stripes. She opened it and - now surrounded by laughing and curious class mates - discovered that the box was filled with jellybeans - red and golden jelly beans, for being exact. As Hermione looked at them, the sweets jumped out of the box, grouping themselves to a script hovering over the table, reading "Happy birthday, Hermione!" Then, with a sound like a giggle, they dropped on the table, formed a neatly row and rolled - one by one - to the paper the box had been wrapped in. As all the jelly beans laid on it, the paper crumpled around them, stretched and became a bag in the form of a huge, red wizard's hat.

"Whow!" A third year girl screamed. "That was wicked! How did you do it?"

"We've got some help ..." Harry answered.

Hermione hadn't to ask from whom - to her the signature "Albus Dumbledore" was clearly written all over the charms used.

"Huh - there's another box!" Lavender stood next to Hermione, curiously looking to her gift. And she was right - the jelly beans had hidden a smaller box in the box. Hermione took it out and opened it to find a package, neatly wrapped in blue and silver paper.

"Babushka!" said someone in her back. "You know the Russian Babushka dolls? When you open them, you find another one in it. And in that is another one and so on. Hermione's obviously got a Babushka package."

And he was right because the package contended the third box (rainbow-coloured) with a package (white clouds on a blue sky) in which was a box, containing a package ... and after almost 10 minutes of cheerful unpacking Hermione came at last to a purple box, just as long as her under arm.

"Careful now!" Harry ordered.

Hermione cautiously opened the box - and almost forgot to breathe in seeing its content: The most beautiful knife she'd ever seen in her life. The blade, shimmering blue in the light of the hall, looked as sharp as a razor and was decorated with artfully engravings - runes and magical symbols. The handle was black wood, polished and with a blue stone on its upper end. It was a potion maker's knife, made for cutting rare and difficult to handle ingredients most precisely and Hermione knew immediately that this knife was probably as good as the one Snape used himself.

"We thought you could need it for your honour project," Harry said now.

Ron, beaming, bent closer to Hermione and whispered in her ear: "You can mince a certain potion master with - and by that earn the eternal gratitude of thousands of students."

"Ron! Don't be a git!" Hermione ranted, but spoiled the effect by hugging him, Harry and Ginny at the same time. "Thank you so much! It's beautiful and I'll always appreciate it." Over Harry's shoulder she looked up to the head table, but the golden chair was empty, Albus was already gone and Hermione felt it as a bitter drop in her goblet of joy. "I'll never understand this man," she thought sadly. "First he spends a big deal of time for charming a gift to me and then he doesn't watch how I open it. Coming close only for running away then - it starts to look as a speciality of him." 

No, actually the party hadn't been very amusing. Loud music, butterbeer, boys talking quidditch and girls giggling about whom of the boys was the "sexiest" - it wasn't something Hermione thought as fun of, but being stuck in the too loud common room for hours hadn't been so bad as what came afterwards. At midnight Minerva McGonagall had appeared, calling the night off, sending her students in bed and accompanying Hermione to the main tower.

They'd made all their way in silence, but as they reached the wall of the gallery and the musician had began to play his tune, Minerva had laid a hand on Hermione's shoulder and said - sounding a bit awkward by it: "Poppy - you know, she doesn't gossip, but she knows that I care for you - told me how she found the headmaster and you on the evening after the attack. She thought it a touching sight and ..." she cleared her voice, "I'm really glad the two of you are going along so well. Augustus kept telling me that your binding charm showed a strong connection, but nevertheless I was relieved to hear it from Poppy too ..."

For a moment Hermione feared she'd start crying, a part of her even longed to do so, to fall on Minerva's shoulder and to tell her all about her longing and the pain of missing the man who slept next to her. But another part forbad Hermione to do so - not only because she liked Minerva too much for making her worry again, but because of Albus. Even if he didn't love her the way she wished he would - he was her husband and she owed him loyalty. Crying at Minerva's shoulder would feel like betraying Albus who actually hadn't done anything wrong - except of not giving her what she really wished more then anything else.

Fighting with all her will r, Hr, Hermione managed to fake a smile good enough Minerva bought it and said with forced cheerfulness: "I really appreciate your concern, Professor McGonagall."

"Dear girl - go to bed. Albus surely waits already." Minerva McGonagall affectionately patted Hermione's shoulder, turned and marched away.

Hermione breathed deeply, then she called: "Good night, Professor! And my regards to your husband!" She stepped then through the arch way and after the wall had closed, she allowed herself to lean against the cold stones. Alone - for the first time on this day she was alone and able to whip the forced smile out of her face. By now her muscles ad already felt cramped and it was sheer relief to let down the mask. Hermione even allowed herself a few tears before she turned, whipped the tears away and stepped on the stairs which lifted her up to the landing in front of the bedroom. Marching around the corner in her bathroom, she undressed, brushed her teeth and hair, splashed a bit cold water in her face and slipped then in her pyjamas - this time the blue with the little teddy bears. Her mirror promptly commented it with: "Don't you think you're looking a bit too childish in this? If I'd want to seduce a man ..."

"You're a mirror - you can't seduce somebody!" Hermione hissed, once again feeling a strong need to throw something hard in the annoying thing. But she knew from trying once, that it wouldn't stop the mirror. The one she'd once hit, had immediately restored itself, telling her in a very insulted voice, that she'd have to learn facing the truth at least twice a day.

On bare feet Hermione marched to the door where she waited for a moment, listening to the soft music out of the bedroom. Albus, in the contrast to many other wizards a regular in the muggle world, owned a hifi set which he had enchanted to work with magic instead of electric and he liked to finish his days with hearing music in bed. This time it was Bach - a sonata for flute, bassoon and harpsichord, a piece of almost mathematic clearness, severe and with the beauty of a single, white rose. Hermione, who'd during the party felt as if the rock of the "wicked witches", a favourite band of almost all Hogwarts students, would shredder not only her ears, but her nerves too, now enjoyed the silver sound of thute ute as if a tender hand would stroke and calm her nerves. As daughter of two talented amateur musicians, she'd grew up with Bach and Mozart and her mother playing the piano while her father played oboe.

Quietly opening the door, Hermione slipped in the bedroom. Albus was already in bed, as always wearing a snowy white nightdress with a golden embroidered, artfully intricate monogram at the chest. "APWBD" - Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore - it was quite a mouth full, but - alas - the wizard owning the name was quite a hand full too.

He'd already bond his hair back to the ponytail he always wore in bed and his wand and the spectacles laid on the night stand.

Hermione liked to see him without the spectacles. He seemed less of the imposing headmaster then, less distanced and a bit more vulnerable. Yet as he climbed on her side of the bed, he turned around and took the glasses up once again, watching her with an expression she couldn't read.

"Good evening, Albus," she greeted him.

"Good evening, Hermione," he gave back polite, his voice as neutral as his eyes.

Hermione breathed deeply and virtually took run. "Thank you very much for the gifts. The robe is lovely ...," she swallowed the "if only I'd know when I should wear something this extravagant" and bravely spoke further, "..and the knife I adore. Your charm work on the package really was brilliant."

"You're welcome. I haI have to admit, I only was one of the donators to the knife. The idea to get you a potion master's knife was Harry's. I think he wanted to show you some 'acceptance' for your choice."

"I thought already so and I appreciate it very much," Hermione said. She hadn't wanted to ask her friends, but now she couldn't resist her curiosity any longer. "I've wondered how they got this knife. I mean one doesn't come across something so special and precious in the apothecary in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. Did you help with that too?"

"No, I didn't." Albus smiled. "Virginia Weasley is so formidable as her mother. She asked Severus where he got his knife and after learning how much such thing costs; she came straight to me and asked if I'd spend a few knuts on it too. She's really an extra ordinary girl."

"Oh yes, she is!" Hermione felt warm by thinking how much trouble Ginny had undergone for giving her such a special gift. "I'll have to thank her again in the morning."

"Hmm ..." Albus made, turning his back again and laying his spectacles back on the night stand. "I wondered ...," he started then, "I mean it's the weekend tomorrow - and with Christmas and the terms end coming closer I won't have another one free, so ...," folding his hands behind his head and speaking more to the ceiling as to Hermione he said: "I've asked Minerva to deputize over the weekend and I've already told our dear minister that I won't be available because of a pressing private matter. Would you perhaps like to become this private matter, Hermione? I thought we could go to Rome. I lived there for a few years as I was with Nicolas Flamel and I've always liked the place. There's a very vivid and nice wizard's community, where we could do a spot of Christmas shopping, in the evening we could go to a concerto in a church ..."

Hermione was between kicking herself in the butt - as hard as possible and best when wearing high heels - for grumbling about feeling neglected all day (how could she have forgotten that her husband was a very busy man?) and dancing in joy. "Oh, Albus!" she cried excited. "I'd love going to Rome with you. I always wanted to go there, but my parents didn't care for such crowded places. Can we visit the Forum Romanum? And the Sixtina? I long to see Michelangelo's paintings, you know? And the catacombs and the ..."

"Oh my - I actually didn't think of moving to Rome again, Hermione!" Albus grinned. "I'm afraid we won't manage all Rome on one weekend. Rome is huge and filled with wonders. But I promise: if you like it there, we'll come back for another weekend."

"Albus, can we have Italian food while in Rome?" Hermione asked. She loved Italian food and the thought of risotto - rich and full with vine and the rice stroking the tongue like silk - and frutti del mare and scalopine and home made pasta made her mouth water.

"Dearest!" Albus laughed heartily. "I think getting you English food would be a task worth a wizard when in Rome. Italian I even can manage in the muggle way. And by talking about that: You don't mind playing muggle for a few hours? All the real nice restaurants in Rome are muggle and the concerto I'd like to hear ..."

"Albus!" Hermione interrupted him laughing. "I'm muggle-born! And as much as I adore your robes - I've always thought muggle-attire is much more comfortable. If you don't mind being in the company of a girl in jeans and sneakers - I mean we'd have to walk some steps by visiting all the places I'd love to see, so ..."

"... you'll get to know my ability for finding dark corners," Albus said with a boyish grin. "I've never cared for long walks on streets and I certainly don't care for muggle transportation. But I'm pretty good in joint apparation."

Hermione giggled. "As long as you don't apparate us in the Pope's private garden - though I'd rather like to see it ..."

"Don't remind me of missing the target!" Albus laughed. "My brother Aberfort once - more then 120 years ago when memory doesn't fail me - wanted to meet a muggle lady - and please, don't ask me for details about her! His liking for goats was already highly developed at this time - in front of the Buckingham palace. Unfortunately he missed his apparition target and so he landed just on the queen's bedside. He swore it was only old Victoria making a pass on him what got him to change in his animagnus form - which was a goat of course - and taking run. The queen - so he told - became the jitters, screaming hysterically, the guards came and caught him and our father, this time minister of magic, became so furious he changed Aberfort in a frog and kept him for four weeks in a jar in his office."

Hermione laughed so hard she almost fell out of the bed. Whipping the tears out of her eyes, she said: "Albus, sometimes I think you're making these stories up!"

"Only a bit, my dear," he admitted. "It wasn't four weeks, but only two - and our mother visited him once a day and caught flies for him."

"Albus Dumbledore!" Hermione cried. "Did some one already tell you, that you're sometimes impossible?"

"Hmm," he made. "Some one? Actually it wasn't some one. It was all people I've ever met and most of them didn't say 'sometimes'. They said I always am impossible. I suppose it's a part of my charming self - don't thi think?"

Hermione turned her eyes. "I give up!" Yawing heartily, she looked at him. "Don't you think we should go to sleep now? I want to be fit for Rome."

"Then I'll have to rest too for keeping up with you." He waved a finger. "Nox!" The candles and the music went off. "Good night, Hermione. I'm looking forward to Rome."

"So do I, Albus," Hermione curled under the blanket, once again wishing she'd have the courage to snuggle close to him. "Good night, Albus.""


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: When in Rome do as the muggles do

Hermione couldn't remember she'd ever had more fun. Although by now her feet hurt and her back actually cried for something more comfortable as the hard wooden bench in the ancient church, she felt wonderfully, filled with the most beautiful sights, a delicious risotto and a happiness she hadn't experienced since her parent's death. And now the concerto began and the choir - half of it boys hardly elder then 10 or 11 years, some even younger, all wearing white robes - started to sing its "Kyrie eleison" - the ancient, capturing cry for mercy, deep human and in the same time much more then human. Hermione had learned that the composer Johann Sebastian Bach - as a lot of geniuses - had been a wizard and by it learned too, that being magical and believing in a creator didn't exclude each other and with that she'd got a new security in being a witch.

The voices of the boys streamed now through the church like a silver river, mixing to harmonies from perfect and overwhelming beauty. Hermione looked up to Albus who sat next to her. He'd earlier changed his appearance to muggle, his hair now only reaching to the shoulders, the beard short. Instead of his halfmoon spectacles he wore round glasses and his robes were gone for blue trousers, a vanilla shirt, dark blue tie and a casual cardigan in midnight blue. Although nothing in his attire differed from the muggles around him, Hermione had all day noticed that her husband caught a lot of attention. Hermione understood why - even disguised as a muggle Albus radiated power and looked regal.

Now the choir was through the "Kyrie" and had celebrated the "gloria in excelis Deo". The music became quieter, the voices muffled in their heartfelt plea "Et in terra pax hominibus boni voluntatis" - and on earth peace to all men of good will. Hermione translated the words for herself and listened how the music became louder, firmer and the voices with every word more secure. They believed in getting peace for all men of good will and in doing so their plea changed to a celebration of the God who would give peace. Then a boy's voice swung itself highly in praise and Hermione felt a cold shudder down her spine and gripped Albus' hand. His fingers were warm and closed protectively over hers, showing her that he understood. And while the music celebrated hope and love, Hermione thought of her friends back at Hogwarts. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Minerva, Severus - yes, even the potion master - were "men of good will" and so they would get peace once - the peace to enjoy music, the company of each other, the shared joys and laughter. And yes, Hermione was sure: One day Severus would join her in laughter, not in the harsh and bitter laughter he was in use with, but in a real cheerful one. She'd seen his humanity, she knew about the tenderness he was able to, about his capability of love and care and she'd never again believe him cold or indifferent.

She leaned a bit closer to Albus, her shoulders touching. It was good to be with him and she swore to herself, she wouldn't complain again about feeling lonely and unwanted when he didn't have time for her. She couldn't expect a man so old and experienced loving a 18 year old girl like her, could she? He couldn't see more in her as a child in his care - perhaps a talented child who was at times nice to be with, but she couldn't demand to be taken seriously as a partner by him.

Besides she hadn't forgotten what Malfoy had said about Albus having an affair with Rosmerta. Although Hermione didn't trust Lucius Malfoy further as she could throw a hippogriff with one hand - in this case, she was sure, he hadn't lied. Hermione remembered how Harry, Ron and she once during a stay in the order's headquarter had, hidden under Harry's invisibility cloak, and sneaked down in the middle of the night to the kitchen. They'd thought of the house already being empty again after the meeting of the order earlier on this evening, but by crossing the hall, they'd heard voices from the chamber next to it. A female had asked: "Will I see you later?" It had sounded tenderly and a bit teasing. The voice answering Hermione had recognized at once: A bit cracked, husky and nevertheless firm and melodious - unmistakably the headmaster's voice, saying: "I'll have at least a night cup with you ..."

At this time Hermione hadn't thought much about the woman inviting him, but by now she was sure: It had been the landlady from the "Three Broomsticks" - pretty, well-rounded in all the departments men liked it, charming, witty and independent Rosmerta, who regularly made Hogwarts pupils as well as fully grown wizards droll like dogs in sight of a bowl full of smelly bones; the same Rosmerta who turned Fudge around her little finger quicker as he could say "I'm the minister of magic" (and Hermione was sure no one could have said this words faster as Cornelius Fudge who probably even never managed a breakfast at his own table without reminding his mousy wife of the honour she got from being in company of the minister of magic). She had been the headmaster's lover - or was she still? Hermione didn't know and the fact that Albus had spent all nights since their wedding in their mutual bed - no, this didn't count much because Hermione knew only too well that one could do shagging on a lot of other places as one's bed and to a lot of other times as in the evening. Although she could hardly imagine her husband snogging Rosmerta in a green house or in one of the corners in Hogsmeade her classmates loved to use for such enterprises - Rosmerta had a bedchamber of her own, hadn't she? And probably in it even a fireplace, connected to the floo network for giving a lover the chance of discrete entering and leaving.

Had Albus done so on one of the last days? Hermione didn't know, but if he had - who was she to blame him? He hadn't married her for love, he'd only done it to protect her - and protection she'd got. So it was her problem and hers solely that she wanted more, wasn't it?

Yet Hermione had been an only child and as such she never liked sharing her toys, let alone her husband. Maybe Rosmerta was prettier then her, probably she was more experienced in matters of sex, but the next round with Albus would be Hermione's, so she swore to herself. Rosmerta could for all Hermione cared of seduce Snape - something she'd certainly get the eternal gratitude of all his students for because all of them were convinced of Severus urgently needing a shag or she could even bed Fudge - a thought which made Hermione shudder - but she wouldn't get too much of a chance of laying Albus if Hermione Granger-Dumbledore had any say in the matter.

With thinking so Hermione started to feel better. Suffering quietly never had been something she though suiting her and after a long week of it she'd already enough. It was time to change the tactic to some nice, little action and the best moment to start with it was now while her potential victim still thought her harmless and innocent. He'd learn soon enough how wrong he was - Hermione was fiercely determined to make him purr once again as soon as possible. And as the trumpets of the orchestra were just playing, Hermione took them for the hunter's signal and moved a bit closer to her husband, slightly pressing the side of her breagaiagainst his arm, entwining her hand from his and laying it down on his leg. This, she decided, would do for a start - finally they were in a church. But they wouldn't stay their all night, would they? The concerto would be over soon and then they'd either stroll back to their hotel - a nice old villa in the wizard's district - or he'd apparate them there. For apparating he'd has to take her in his arms and Hermione was determined not to miss this opportunity to warm him up a bit. And if he decided to walk - no problem either. The night was dark and Rome full of nice, little corners to snog in.

The concerto was over - no clapping because this wouldn't have been appropriate in a church, only the rustling of clothes and the scraping of boots on the stone floor and quiet talking accompanied the leaving of the audience and the musicians. Hermione took with regret her hand from Albus' knee and rose with him, following him out of the church to the place in front of it, on which a spring chuckled in the bright light of a few lanterns. Albus took Hermione's hand and pulled it through his arm, then he smiled down on her. "Just over there is a nice little trattoria. Would you like to have a night cup?"

"I'd love to." Hermione was flexible in her plans - if he wanted to have a drink, she'd have one too. And if the alcohol would ease her - and perhaps him - a bit, she'd be the last to complain about.

He swept with her over the place and around a corner into a very small pub where a crowd of muggles gathered around the bar, talking very loudly in Italian. Albus led Hermione in a corner where they found a little marble table and two chairs. A few minutes they sat there, chattering amicably about the concerto, then he rose: "I'm afraid the service here is a bit slow. I'll get us our drinks. What do you want?"

Hermione, not very experienced in drinks, considered a moment. "Red vine?" she said finally, a bit insecure.

Albus laughed. "Red vine is a bit unspecific in Italy. I'll get you a Bardolo. I think you'll like it."

Hermione watched his back as he went to the bar, talking friendly with the people, standing then until he got the attention of the landlord. He spoke to him, the landlord smiled and walked away in the little kitchen behind the bar. Albus turned around and smiled to Hermione. Then the landlord came back, almost tenderly carrying a dusty bottle. He showed it to Albus who nodded, then he uncorked it carefully, put it in a little cradle, gave Albus two glasses and followed him, proudly carrying the cradle, to the table where he smiled to Hermione and said something in Italian. Although she hadn't understood a word, she thanked with a nod and a smile, watching amused how Albus put down the glasses and the landlord purred a little sip of the vine in one of it. Albus rose the glass, kept it against the light, led the dark red liquid swap a bit, then he smelled at it and finally he tasted the vine. The landlord watched him expectantly and as Albus nodded and made "hmm", the round Italian beamed as if he'd personally invited the art of making vine. Then he purred Hermione a glass, filled Albus' to the brim, put the cradle with the bottle down, said something to Albus and waddled back to the bar.

"What did he say?" Hermione asked curiously.

Albus sat down and drank another sip of his vine. "The last was the promise to get us a plate with fresh antipasti, made by his mamma as quick as possible ..."

"And the first?" Hermione demanded to know, trying the vine and shaking because it was so sour. "Brrr!" she made.

Albus laughed. "Try again! As most real good things vine needs a bit to come in use with and to enjoy it too the fullest. And ...," he hesitated, but only for a second, then he said: "The first the landlord said was a compliment about my granddaughter being a bella signora - a pretty girl."

"Oh ..." Hermione said, kicking the landlord in her mind. Having Albus remembered at the age cleft between them was the thing she'd needed last on this evening. Quietly she said: "He can't know that you're a wizard with a much longer lifespan as a normal man."

"Even for a wizard I'm pretty old, Hermione," Albus answered quietly too.

The landlord came back - just as Hermione considered hexing him into the next week. This time he carried a plate with olives, artichokes, asparagus, sea fruits, salads and some other, delicious looking things Hermione hadn't seen before.

Albus thanked him and now he'd gotten his smile back. "I hope you like sea fruit and olives ..."

"I do!" Hermione looked to the plate, not sure where to start.

Albus made the decision for her, taking a green olive, filled with an almond and offered it to Hermione. She took it with the mouth out of his long fingers, chewed it anid: id: "It's delicious!" She swallowed, smiled, picked another olive and offered it to him. "Please, take one too - I don't want to the only one smelling of garlic."

Albus laughed and at the olive, then he feed Hermione a piece of octopus. "I sometimes wonder if I could send one of our house elves to Rome for learning to cook Italian. I'd like to have this more often ..."

Hermione giggled. "I don't think the giant squid would approve of becoming antipasti."

"Certainly not. He doesn't like garlic so much as I do," Albus answered, eating another olive and drinking a sip of his vine. "Don't you want another try with the vine? Or shall I get you something sweeter?"

"No, no, thanks ..." Hermione didn't like the idea of drinking juice like a child while he had vine. She took another sip and though she still the vine sour - there was something else in it, something that reminded her of the smell of soil after a sunny day, of fruits and nuts and even more. "Hmm," she made. "I think I'm to get it ..." Another sip and this time she didn't swallow immediately, but let the vine linger on her tongue. It wasn't sour anymore - now it seemed to stroke tenderly over her taste cells, filling each of them with its rich taste.

Albus watched her amused. "You're a quick learner," he said as she took the next sip and held the now empty glass up to him for getting it filled again. "Yet I shall have to warn you: This stuff is stronger then butterbeer. If you get too much of it, you'll have the hangover of your life tomorrow."

Hermione, feeling already light headed, grinned. "Isn't there an apothecary just opposite our hotel? I=m sure I could get a hangover potion there. You know it's real an advantage to be a witch."

"Oh, really?" Albus grinned. "I'm glad to hear. I didn't notice before."

"Buh!" made Hermione giggling, showing him her tongue. "Don't tease me!"

"I thought you'd like being teased;" Albus gave back, his eyes twinkling.

Was this flirting? Hermione wasn't sure, but she was determined to make the best from it. Laying her hand over his, she looked in his eyes, sank her voice for at least half an octave and purred: "Maybe it's a question of how you tease me?"

"Oh. You've got special wishes in matters of teasing?" He didn't pull his hand away, but entwined his fingers with hers.

It was flirting - and Hermione loved it! Sipping on her vine again, she moved her leg under the table until her feet met his. "I actually thought about a little mutual teasing ..." she said then.

"And you've already started it?" he asked, stroking her palm with his thumb.

"Any objections?" she asked back.

"Only one." Now he pulled his hand away, raised it and waved to the landlord. "L'addition, sil vousz ple' ..." he called.

The landlord looked puzzled for a moment and Hermione laughed. "This was French, Albus!"

!It seems I'm a bit confused. You may take this as a compliment ..." A smile, then he turned to the landlord who'd arrived at the table, paid him and talked another few sentences in Italian with him. The landlord bowed and went away, Albus rose and offered Hermione his arm. Leading her out of the pub, he whispered to her: "Now he probably thinks I'm a wicked old cardinal with a very young mistress."

"As long as you don't think I'm a nun, I don't care!" Hermione heard herself giggling, wondering about her own boldness. Probabl cam came from feeling really dizzy now in the fresh, cold air of the winter night. Leaning close to Albus, she marched over the place with him and in a small alley along which led along the church, a very ancient building with mighty supporting walls all over its length. They formed niches and only every second of it was lighted by a lantern. Hermione waited until they'd reached a dark one, then she gave Albus a little push and jumped on him, laying her hands on his shoulder and leaning against him, her mouth searching his lips. For a second he seemed entirely surprised and stood motionless, but then he embraced her and bent his head for meeting her lips. Though she could taste the vine and the garlic on him, the kiss was sweet and gentle. Hermione closed her eyes by it, enjoying how he let her tongue discover his mouth and how his warm hands roamed over her back.

Raising her hand, she stroked over his head, her fingers making contact with the warm skin under the silken hair. She was promptly rewarded with a purr, a deepening of the kiss and him pulling her closer. Her body remembered his - and it noticed the differences between the last time she'd been so close to him and now. Last time these shoulders had been straighter and more muscled and last time no round belly had been between them.

Hermione didn't mind it - the man who kissed her now with passion felt nevertheless like Albus and he smelled like Albus and he tasted like Albus and he made her body hum with aliveness and joyful expectation. Only he seemed to mind. Breaking the kiss he muttered: "This won't do ...". Stepping back he put his hand in the bag of his trousers and found a little package.

In the dim light of the alley it looked to Hermione like chewing gum and she said: "I don't mind the garlic. I've eaten a lot of it myself."

Albus unwrapped a drop and put it in his mouth. Swallowing it he said: "I neither mind the garlic, but I think a little change of appearance is in order ..."

Hermione saw how his hair became darker and his shoulder broadened. "You've got the potion as a drop?" she asked amazed.

"That's Severus' newest invention," he answered, pushing the package back in his pocket. "He feared I could get too much of it. Probably he's afraid you'd make him responsible then and order him to baby sit." Making a face, he moved his shoulders, then he tugged on the rather lose hanging fabric over his belly, shaking his head: "One shouldn't do that when muggle dressed."

Hermione laughed - happy to have her handsome young lover back and even happier because his keeping of the potion in his pocket showed her, that he'd thought of sleeping with her too. Probably he'd even wished to? She laid her arms around him and pulled him back in the dark niche, whispering: "If you apparate us back to our hotel, I'll do the undressing for you ..."

"What a tempting offer!" He leaned against her again. "But isn't it said When in Rome, do as the muggles do'? I think I'll get us a taxi ..."

Hermione felt - happily - his already hard length pressing against her stomach and with a boldness which surprised herself she reached for it. "You know, I'm a bit impatient when it comes to unwrapping gifts ..." she said, cupping his erection with the length of her hand.

He bent his head and for a few seconds he nibbled on her ear, but then caught her hand laid it against his chest. "This gift - as you so nicely put it - is the very reason for not wanting to apparate, my lovely witch. As you've learned at school - at least I hope you did - apparating needs a good deal of concentration - and I feel in the moment rather distracted. So if you don't want to get splinched or to land in the pope's bed let's get a taxi."

"May I kiss you during the ride?" Hermione asked, nibbling at his neck.

"You may." He laid one arm around her shoulder and led her back to the alley. "You may even mark me yours again."

"Hmm?" she made puzzled.

Albus laughed. "Didn't you notice the collar I wore the day after our wedding night? You'd gave me so much kiss marks even my beard couldn't hide them all. So my choice was conjuring myself a high collar or visiting Madame Pomfrey. Considering one rarely meets her alone in the morning, discretion demanded the collar."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't notice ..." stammered Hermione.

"No need to be sorry. I felt rather flattered by such displays of passion."

"I'll try to avoid in the future ..." Hermione promised, although she found the idea of her kiss marks on the great headmaster arousing.

"Don't you dare!" Albus laughed. "One day I want to shock Minerva with it. She still thinks of her head girl as an innocent little lamb."

"And you're the big, bad wolf then?" Hermione laid her arm around his middle and snuggled closer to him. "You know, I just start to feel like becoming the first lamb who ever laid the wolf."

They'd arrived at a bigger street with a lot of traffic now. Albus waved his hand and whistled, a taxi stopped to them on the pavement. Albus helped Hermione gallantly on the back seat, climbed next to her, told the driver the address of the pub which was the entrance to the Roman wizard's district and turned to Hermione, as the driver settled off. "You know," he said with the boyish grin she liked so much on him, "I think of you as a little lioness. So we've got a nice zoo: lamb, lioness, wolf ..."

"... and a beautiful, strong gyrfalcon I'm rather fond of," Hermione finished for him, leaned close and whispered in his ear: "What do you think about a bit of nice, kinky interspecies sex?"

"As long as no goats are involved ..."

Albus had probably wanted to say more, but Hermione didn't give him a chance. She kissed him passionately, one hand in his hair, the other, hidden from the taxi driver's sight in his back mirror by her own body - on his erection. She loved to feel it stretching his trousers and the heath which radiated through the fabric. And she loved how Albus' hand roamed now again over her back, down to her waistline where his fingers made their way in the back of her jeans, finding the sensitive spot where her spine ended. It made her almost crazy as he stroked it and she whispered: "You drive me nuts! If you don't stop that I won't be responsible for any further actions!"

He stopped the nibbling on her neck. "Look who's speaking! I just start to think about me being the lamb in the claws of the lioness!"

"I love the prey I've got in my claws!" Hermione giggled, once again kissing him - so thoroughly and deeply neither of them noticed the taxi stopping at the pavement. It needed the driver to switch off the engine, whistling for Albus breaking the kiss.

Blushing slightly, he said: "Scusi, Signore ..." another line in Italian followed while he paid for the ride, giving the driver a generous tip. The young man laughed and said something himself, Albus grinned back as he helped Hermione to climb out. The driver obviously was very amused - laughing he started his engine again, called over his shoulder another Italian line and settled off.

"What did he say?" Hermione asked once again.

"He said that he didn't know an English lady could become so passionate." Albus laid his arm around her shoulder and let her to the pub. "I told him, you're not a normal English lady, but a witch and so he expressed his hope for me having a wand to serve you." He opened the pub's door for her.

Hermione laughed. "Albus, you're ..."

"... impossible?" he offered, but didn't wait for an answer, but stood still, just behind the door, pulling his wand out of his boot and murmuring a quick spell.

Hermione expected his clothes would change in robes, but nothing happened. "What did you just do?" she asked.

Albus only grinned, laid his hand on her butt and shove her through the crowded bar to the door on the backside. Opening it they came in a room where a very bright, much too colourful poster of an Italian beauty hung. Hermione snorted as the beauty bent forward, giving Albus a deep sight on her round cleavage - and deeper.

"Oh - nice shoes!" Albus stated - and promptly got Hermione's elbow in his ribs.

The beauty on the poster laid now her head to the side stroke her long, black hair back and produced a look to Albus which reminded Hermione to the looks Pansy Parkinson had provided in the last week Snape with. The Italian beauty asked Albus something in a rather throaty Italian, showing him once again her breasts.

He raised his wand and showed it o her, chuckling to Hermione: "It seems my wand is much in demand today ..." The Italian opened the wall; Hermione followed Albus in a pretty crowded alley, dimly light. By walking there she noticed that no one seemed to see Albus and her. Even as she almost bumped in a dark haired wizard he only looked to his feet as if he'd just stomped over a stone. "You used a do-not-notice' charm!" Hermione cried in delight. She'd always longed to see this special charm cast, but in Hogwarts the wards prevented it.

"Of course I did," Albus answered amused. "You didn't think I'd waddle through the entire Roman wizard district in trousers only don't slipping because I carry an erection? I mean, I'm known for being eccentric and frivolous, but even I have limits."

"Albus ..." Hermione just have had an idea. "The wards at Hogwarts - they only prevent this charm when cast by a student, do they? Teachers are allowed to use it ..."

"Clever girl!" Albus grinned. "Yet I rarely use it at school. I think I'm already not often enough present. So I wouldn't like to spoil the few opportunities to be seen and to talk with the students."

"But Snape uses the charm!" Hermione said.

"Professor Snape," Albus corrected her soft, but firmly. "Being head of Slytherin means that one has to use every trick available." He laid once again his arm around her shoulder. "Why do I think you're about to ask me if I'd teach you this charm?"

"Because you know me?" Hermione smiled.

"Ah, yes. That's it." Albus pulled her a bit closer and led her through an archway to the entrance of the hotel. "And you know," he said while opening the door and waling with her through the hall where an elder witch snored behind a counter, "the more I get to know you, the more I like what I've got for a wife."

Hermione looked up to him. Quietly she said: "Sometimes I feel rather grateful to Lucius Malfoy - bastard as he is - myself."

Albus didn't answer. He followed her over the stairs to their room, opened the door with a quick wave of his wand and took her in his arms as soon as they were in. Kissing her, he swept her up, carried her to the bed and let her down on her back, looking down on her out of blue eyes, filled with lust. Hermione stretched and fished her own wand out of her cleavage where it had been hidden all evening. Directing it at him, she laughed. His blue trousers really hung rather loosely around his narrow hips - except of the tent his straining member had built in them. Her usual thirst of knowledge made her wonder - how felt it to carry such an erection.

"Albus?" she asked, coming up on her knees and lightly stroking over the bulge in his trouser. "How does it feel?"

"Hmm ...," he made, pushing his member against her hand. "Rather pleasant, I'd say."

"No! I didn't mean my stroking. I meant how it feels to have an erection," Hermione explained. Blushing she added: "You know, the girls in my dormitory said that a man would suffer agonies if he got an erection and no one does anything against it."

Albus shook his head and sat down on the bedside. "It seems I must sacrifice myself once again for a charm class with the fifth years," he said, slipping out of his cardigan and opening his tie.

"Let me do that!" Hermione offered and started to unbutton his shirt. "What charms would you like to teach the fifth years?" she asked.

"Deflating charms of course." Albus offered her his wrist for unbuttoning his cuff. "In former times it was in the curriculum. But Professor Sinistra and Minerva - prudish as they are - complained about how embarrassing it were not only for the teachers, but the students too and besides: Our students were all capable of reading, so they could inform themselves in the library ..."

Hermione couldn't help herself. She started to laugh. "Hogwarts and sexual education," she giggled. "You know, I'll never in my life forget the look on Neville Longbottom's face as Professor Snape helped him once to make a potion - with a patience you wouldn't believe your potion master capable of. He explained carefully and slowly every step of it at least twice, always asking the poor boy if he'd really got it and then he let him repeat it. At the end Neville really got it - and since then his potion marks have improved because in every exam since then he gets ake ake this very potion. It's probably the only one Neville knows by heart now."

Albus slipped out of his shirt. "Let me guess: It's the contraceptus potion?"

"Of course it is!" Hermione kissed his naked shoulder.

"For a Slytherin Severus sometimes is very predictable," Albus said thoughtfully. "But by talking about contraceptus ..." He took his wand, dire it it at his groin and cast a quick charm. "The're advantages in being in Rome - like our ministry isn't able to track my use of magic." Raising his wand again, he spoke another incantation. His and Hermione's clothes vanished and appeared again - floating to the wardrobe, which opened for them. Neatlldedlded they found their place there and the wardrobe closed with a deep and satisfied sounding "cluck".

Albus smiled at Hermione, with one hand cupping her breast, with the other stroking her hair. "I want to make love to you, my little lioness," he said, his voice once again a bit husky.

Hermione didn't answer with words. Instead she kissed him with all the passion and need she felt, sinking back on the bed and pulling him with her. Actually she'd expected he'd now start to kiss and to stroke her, preparing her as he had done last time, but he surprised her with pinning her down on the mattress, his knees already between her legs, pushing them apart. The head of his very stiff erection slipped over her clitoris to the entrance then and Hermione felt a rush of wild lust, her blood hummed in her ear and her heart hammered almost too hard against her ribs. She arched her back, filled with a need almost too much to bear, but for her delight he didn't let her wait. With one strong push he entered her and she felt once again the sweet, sweet pain of being stretched and filled and screamed and pushed against him, wanting more. Yet her scream had made him hesitate. Hovering over her, braced on his elbows, he looked down in her eyes. hurt you?"

"No. I don't think you ever could," she said. Only that it was almost pain to have him finally in her, but not moving. So she wrangled beneath him, her hands around his me ane and at last on his firm buttocks. "Please, please, Albus - please, please, fuck me!" She'd never thought she'd use this word once in earnest and for a moment she was shocked by herself.

But then she heard his voice, filled with lust. "I will, my little lioness, I will ..." His face looked almost grave and very determined, on his forehead a vein pulsed, an auburn strand fell over it and as he gripped her buttocks with both his hands and commanded her rap rap her legs around him, she thought that he was the most erotic sign she'd ever seen.

Her position didn't give her much chance to move herself, but she suddenly didn't want to. It was pure bliss to cling to him and to take forcforceful stokes, it was overwhelming sensation, it was wild and tender in the same time and it was everything she needed. In her body exploded something, red sparks danced before her eyes, she heard somebody scream - was it her? She didn't care, she was too far away, outside herself, outside time and space, in a whirl of raw, hot lust in which nothing counted as pleasure and feeling alive, with every fibre of her body, with every cell of her brain.

She wasn't sure if she'd fainted, but slowly, sweet and slowly the wave ebbed and she became aware of the strong body, covered in sweat, which lay heavily on her. Albus panted and she felt hat the needed all his willpower to brace himself again on his elbows and to raise his head. Breathing deeply he said with an almost sheepish smile: "This, my dear Hermione, a witch gets when teasing her wizard too much."

"Is that so?" Hermione was so filled with tenderness for him, she thought she'd burst. Gently stroking the hair out of his sweaty forehead, she said: "I think I shall tease you more often then."

"Oh sweet Merlin, have m wit with me!" Albus rolled away, still panting. "You don't want to become our love life a series of quickies, do you?"

Hermione turned over, placing her hand on his chest. Chewing on her under lip, she cautiously asked: "Aren't you satisfied, Albus?"

He laid his arms around her and pulled her head on his shoulder. "It seems to become my favourite saying: I'm a man, Hermione. As such my needs are probably a bit simpler as a woman's - at least when I'm this much aroused. Yet I think you deserve more as a quick - pardon my French - fuck. You should get tenderness and adoration and a bit more finesse and subtlety as I've just provided you with."

Hermione took her head from his shoulder, looked in his eyes, once again very touched by his concern, but suddenly feeling very adult and wonderful womanly. "Dear Albus," she started, kissing the tip of his nose. "I was not less aroused then you and I've got just what I needed: A - pardon my English - quick and raw and wild and wonderful fuck." Another kiss on his rather prominent nose and now he smiled again and she said: "I don't say I wouldn't appreciate your finesse and subtlety. I certainly did last time and I felt very spoiled and adored by it. But where's written one has to choice once and for ever? Can't we have both? The wild and the sweet games?"

Obviously she'd said the right thing - his smile became one of the boyish grins she loved so: "You suggest a second round, I take it? Insatiable little witch!"

"I didn't!" Hermione protested. "I didn't say with one word I'd expect you to go through the entire repertoire in one night."

"What a pity! And here I've hoped for an entire night full of passion. It seems the stamina of the youth nowadays lets to wish something. Perhaps I should talk with Madame Hooch about some exercises ..." Now his grin reached from one ear to the other.

"Oh?" Hermione tugged playfully on a hair on his chest. "I don't think you'd need exercises with your broomstick, dear."

He bite lightly in her shoulder. "One should always exercise with the broomstick. And I think Rolanda Hooch makes an interesting partner for ..."

"Albus, you're a mcp!" Hermione said, poking him in the ribs.

"MCP?"

"A male chauvinist pig," Hermione explained.

He laughed. "Actually I've heard something along this line before - actually I get to hear it twice a week though Minerva doesn't use such colourful expressions for it like you." Stroking her breast, he grinned once again. "Considering that she rants with Augustus for being a chauvinist often enough too, I take it that mcps are fun in bed ..."

"Albus Dumbledore!" Hermione caught his marauding hand and bite in his thumb. "You're not only a mcp, but a loudmouth!"

He raised an eyebrow. "You doubt my qualities as a lover? I'm disappointed."

Hermione laughed and in an almost perfect copy of Hogwarts' game keeper Rubeus Hagrid she rumbled: "Never doubt the headmaster in front of me! Dumbledore's a great man, he is!"

Albus pulled her to his shoulder again. Playing with her hair, he said: "But you were right with your doubts. In the moment I'm too groggy to raise a finger, let alone something else. But if you could bother getting us the fruits from the table? I think a few vitamins could restore me to a more useful condition rather quickly ..."

"And if I'm too groggy too?" Hermione teased him, already climbing over him.

He gave her naked butt a little clap. "You can't. First you're younger then me and therefore bound to be fitter. Second: I was doing all the sport!"

Hermione walked to the little table, took the bowl with fruits and asked over her shoulder: "Did I hear a complaint there?"

"No, only an observation." Albus sat up, pushing the pillow in his back in a comfortable position and crossed his long legs.

Hermione, coming back with the bowl, watched him closely and felt her heart doing funny jumps by it. She couldn't deny it to herself any longer: During the last days - or on this evening? She wasn't sure, but it didn't count anyway - she'd fallen in love with the handsome wizard, lying there, entirely relaxed and obviously at ease with himself and the world. And small wonder it was, considered what she'd learned about him over the last days. He was everything she'd ever wished for in a man: Owner and user of a brilliant mind, strong and in the same time touchingly vulnerable, sensitive and kind, very well-mannered without ever behaving pompous, a man of the world, a great leader, a caring and warm hearted friend to his friends, witty and - Hermione had to swallow by thinking of it - dead sexy. This long, slender hands with the talented fingers, the deep blue eyes, the broad shoulders, the well-defined chest with the cute, pink nipples and just enough hair to look manly, but not so much embracing him would feel like clinging to King Kong, the slim tights and his cock, even now, relaxed and soft resting in a nest of auburn curls, an imposing sight - Hermione felt a new rush of warmth in her under body.

Albus obviously had noticed her glance. "Stock taking, little lioness?" he asked with an amused smile.

"Kind of ..." Hermione smiled back and climbed in bed again, putting the bowl on his chest. She searched through it, put the bananas and mangos aside and because she couldn't find a peach, offered him a pear. "Another favourite of yours, isn't it?"

"It is - but how do you know?" he asked and took the fruit, biting in it.

Hermione got herself an apple, polished it on the blanket and laughed at him. "When having the choice between watching Ron's rather abysmal eating manners and yours, I've always rather looked at you. So I know you like your porridge with cream and an amount of sugar every muggle dentist would faint by hearing of. You're in general having a rather sweet tooth - you're always very much in desserts. I sometimes wonder how you manage to keep your shape all all the sugar you're eating ..."

"Actually I don't keep it well anymore," he sighed. "I've got a potbelly."

"Nonsense! You're just in the right shape of a man your age," Hermione protested and proceeded with her observations: "You like tea better then coffee. When you drink coffee, it's always a bad sign - in the past it meant always a crisis. Even Ron noticed and he normally wouldn't notice if Sna... Professor Snape, I mean ... would order a litre fresh virgin blood for dinner."

Albus laughed. "I'm sure he'd love to get a litre of fresh virgin blood, but certainly not for his dinner, but for his potion stocks."

"Why does he ask the students for a donation?" Hermione asked. "We all know how important virgin blood is for some healing potions."

Albus laughed again. "I think, Severus likes Minerva too much."

"Huh?" Hermione shook her head. "I mustn't get the connection between him liking Minerva and him not asking for blood donations, must I?"

Albus, chewing on his pear, smiled. "It's actually rather simple: He likes Minerva too much for wanting her to lose all her illusions about our sweet, innocent students. She's a bit old-fashioned, you know? Therefore it's always my job to talk with students when they're in trouble about the subject of sex. Minerva mostly even doesn't notice it. She once fell out of all her clouds when learning that one of her Gryffindor's was pregnant. She really and seriously asked me how this could have happened!"

"Oh no!" Hermione who as head girl had more then once caught school mates snogging in dark corners, in the green houses, in the stands of the quidditch pitch, in empty class rooms, on the Astronomy tower, in the owlery and in broom closets, turned her eyes. "I don't think you'll find a seventh year at Hogwarts who's still a virgin. It would be even difficult with the sixth years. And we surely have a few fifth years who're pretty much experienced already. Sometimes I think, being a witch or a wizard makes for pretty strong hormones ..."

"You're right, Hermione. It does," Albus said.

"Really?" She immediately became very interested. "Is this only an opinion of yoor sor something more?"

He laughed. "My opinion wouldn't be good enough for your academic mind? Then you'll be happy to hear, that it isn't my belief only. Nicolas Flamel was convinced that our magic doesn't stand alone in our self. It's connected to the soul and to the body - probably the reason why our life span is so much longer as a muggles. This connection makes - at least in my opinion - for a strong drive in matters of sexuality too."

"Hmm ..." Hermione made and chewed once again thoughtfully on her under lip. "It makes sense ..." she said then.

Albus laughed again. "I'm glad to hear that."

She didn't take his bait, but looked to him out of huge eyes. "Darwin, Albus - did you ever read him? I know most wizards aren't interested in muggle science, but ..."

"I did read Darwin, Hermione. And I've read further - so I'm well informed about the newer developments in this area," he interrupted her calmly. "And I think I know the direction you're just thinking along. Magic as a kind of genetic mutation, which gives the individual an advantage in evolution - in the long way something what could lead to a development of the entire species. Interesting concept."

"Only it doesn't work entirely." Hermione sounded almost disappointed. "Magic is elder as our civilization. If it would be a kind of evolutionary development, the number of wizards would have to be bigger by now ..."

"I don't think so," Albus disagreed. "First you shouldn't forget that our civilization is - measured on the time evolution needed for its development until now - quite young and we don't know when the first wizard ever came around. Considered that it needs perhaps a million of years to develop a new species we're perhaps still at the beginning of the process. Second: Not every development in evolution lead to a success. There were millions of species which only lived for a short time - a few 100.000 years or even a million years, but didn't make it until today. So perhaps magic is only one attempt in the evolution of mankind? We don't know ..."

"Yet it makes for an interesting concept - as you said." Hermione sighed. "I'd like to read about, but I'm afraid I'll find no books about this subject."

"Write one, dear." Albus took a banana out of the bowl and began to peel it. "Make it your subject - I think it's really a quite interesting one. And you're to start an academic career soon - so you can do further research on that."

"You really think I could won thn that?" Hermione sounded excited. "I mean ..." she became quiet and looked pretty awkward. "Albus ..." she started new after a litthilehile, in which he at his banana. "When I'm ready in Hogwarts - what will I do then?"

"That's for you to decide," he answered calmly. "Yet I think it would be a shame if you wouldn't go to a university for further education. With the marks you're supposed to get every university will gladly take you up ..."

"... and give me a scholarship?" Hermione couldn't look in his eyes. "Under the law as it is I don't see many chances for that. And I don't have any money of my own. The little my parents left me is just enough to finish Hogwarts."

"Hermione, may I remind you that you're married to me?" Albus looked serious. "It may sound very old-fashioned to you, but to me it means sharing our worldly goods ..."

"I gladly will share my teddy bear pyjamas with you, if you're interested," Hermione said. "But except them I don't have much to offer."

"I'd love to share your teddy bear pyjamas. How about the trousers for you, the shirt for me?" Albus grinned.

Hermione grinned back and laid her hand over his spend member. "Poor thing! He would risk getting you a cold!" she said.

"Better a cold as the restriction of trousers. We really don't like them very much; my poor thing' and I." Albus stroke her shoulder. "But back to the sharing of worldly goods: The Dumbledores are a pretty old family and I'm after my brother's death the last of them. Besides: Hogwarts' headmaster is paid handsomely. So I don't think you'll have to worry about money anymore. We've got enough for every university you want to attend. Actually I think we've got enough to last you a lifetime." He lay back on the pillows, pulling her with him. "Feeling better now?"

Hermione thought for a moment, then she kissed the tip of his nose. "Actually - yes and no. Of course it's good to know that I can have an academic education. But I think I'll need some time to come in use with the idea of spending your money for it."

"Your money, my money - it's our money." He laid back, folding his hands under his head and grinning to her. "You were telling me that you always watched me during meals. I was fascinated - and flattered of course. I didn't know I'm this interesting."

"Of course you are!" Hermione crossed her legs and lend back. She didn't bother about being naked - in the contrary. It felt nice and gave her a feeling of freedom. "Hogwarts isn't overfilled with interesting males, is it? The DADA teachers - when male - are always a bit strange; our dear potion master mostly looks as if he were just thinking about hexing everyone setting eyes on him. The Messieurs Rochester and Brittles are so boring even the most hormone driven teenage girls can't find anything on them, Hagrid ...," she stopped, kicking grinning Albus lightly, "... is just Hagrid," she finished then. Using her finger for counting, she proceeded: "Filch is yuck. Binns is a ghost - and even before he became one, one would probably have needed a healer's order because he's the strongest sleeping draught one can think of. Professor Flitwick isn't exactly human, is he? So it's you a girl has to look at if she isn't in immature boys only talking quidditch. Actually it's quite unfair. The boys got much more to look at - Madame Hooch, Professors Vector, Sinistra, Mapplethorn, Saint Clair ..."

"Trelawney ..." Albus chuckled.

"Uuuh!" made Hermione. "How mental a boy would have to be for drooling after her?"

Albus laughed. "I was once accused of being mental enough. Dolores Umbridge told the ministry I'd only stick to Sybil because I'd sleep with her. Only Fudge didn't believe her ..."

"He didn't? I'm amazed. This shows more intelligence as I've ever would have trusted him with," Hermione snarled.

Albus laughed again. "I'm not so sure it was intelligence what made him disbelieve. Actually it is quite funny: Umbridge always accuses me of engaging so much female teachers because I want to bed them. Fudge in the meantime is convinced I only take them because I can't stand up to the Hogwarts women's libber anymore."

Hermione threw the rest of her apple in the fireplace. "Sometimes I think the first and most important qualification for getting a job in the ministry is absolute, unquestionable, proven thickness."

Albus had his second pear eaten; now he liked the juice from his fingertips. "Think of Arthur Weasley and ..." Obviously he couldn't come up with another name without brooding over it, what he did.

Hermione decided that she didn't want the mood spoiled by talking about the ministry any longer. So she took the bowl with the fruits, bent over Albus and put it down on the carpet in front of the bed. Her leaning on him distracted him from his thoughts - as she tried to crawl back, he caught her in his arms, pulled her head to his and kissed her. The kiss tasted like the pear he'd just at and Hermione thought that this taste suited the playfulness of it just right. She let her hands wander - one to her favourite place, his hair, the other was allowed to roam over his shoulder to his chest, tugging lightly on a hair there, then stroking over the muscle, feeling his beating heart and his nipple in her palm. As the kiss deepened, this nipple became more prominent and firmer. Hermione noticed it for further references and let the tips of her finger dance around the aureole. Albus liked it - so much was clear from his stretching and the way his mouth on hers became more demanding. Hermione became curious - she hadn't thought of a man's chest as so responsive, but she discovered that she very much enjoyed it.

Breaking the kiss, she dived down and teased the nipple with the tip or tor tongue. Albus shivered and breathed hard. Hermione grinned - her inner sex goddess was back again, stretching and purring - and since when had it taken on the form of a lioness? A lioness that'd just found a playground in his chest, wanting to explore it more. So Hermione licked again, then she let her teeth fall on the firm flesh. She didn't bite or scrape - but the reward was nevertheless nice: Albus jumped and his one free hand gripped firmly into the sheet. Hermione took this as encouragement and sucked on her new found toy.

"Uuuh ..." She heard and then, pretty husky: "Are we in finesse now, Hermione?"

She sucked again, then she raised her head, blew a kiss on the wet, pink bud and said: "No, dearest. It's still stock taking."

"A nice way you've got for it. I shall look forward to the further progress ..."

Hermione sank her head over his chest again, nibbling and teasing and slowly working her way down over the pectoral muscle to his flat belly. Just under his belly button she discovered another obviously very erotic zone - as she kissed it, he became jumpy again and by his buckling she felt the tip of his cock stroking her chin. He was aroused again, his member not entirely stiff yet, but heavy and thick laying on his tight.

For a moment Hermione felt insecure again. Lavender and Parvati had often talked about what they called "Blow Jobs" and that an expertly done "BJ" made very man a puddle on a woman's feet. Actually Hermione liked the idea of Albus puddle very much and she was convinced her inner sex goddess would have a field day in having her presence proven by that. Yet Hermione doubted she could it "expertly" - not without a good deal of research. Being the methodical girl she was, she decided to start with it now and so she did, taking a long look at her research object.

It was, Hermione found, pretty nice to look at: A good piece longer as the length of her hand she laid for measuring on the tight next to it; the light pink head with the opening in it just cheekily peeking out of the ivory skin surrounding it, glimmering like silk in the lights of the candles. The length above the head was covered by straining skin and it ... Hermione couldn't suppress a giggle.

Albus who'd kept entirely quiet during her inspection, shifted. "What's so amusing, dear?" he demanded to know.

Hermione looked for a second up to him, then she glanced again to his cock. "I've just discovered that he ..." with the tip of her index finger she gave him a tender poke, "really looks like your wand. I mean he's much thicker, but the colour and the straightness and the length - and I've just wondered if this is the case with all wizards."

Albus started to laugh so hard, tears rolled down his cheek. "This ...," he couldn't stop laughing, "... would prove a theory of Rolanda Hooch." Still chuckling he did a pretty good imitation of her harsh voice, saying: "I'm pretty sure this Riddle-pest only got a useless, tiny prick. Therefore he's making all this fuss!"

Hermione shook her head, laughing too. "And here I always thought of my teachers as authorities, as serious persons! But ...," she grinned, "Harry's wand is rather small and it's the brother wand to Voldemort's, isn't it?"

"Yes," Albus agreed, "but I nevertheless don't believe in the theory. We'd had once a colleague who wasn't only enjoyed by one, but three female members of the staff - what in the end made for a catfight in which Severus got a rib broken while I came out with a black eye. Later the ladies involved became friends again and shared with each other fond memories of their former lover being - and I quote! - hung like a horse'. Since then the connection theory is entirely done for me because this colleague carried the tiniest wand I've ever seen."

"Don't say this colleague was Gilderoy Lockheart!" Hermione shuddered.

"Certainly not. It was years before you came to Hogwarts. Besides: Lockheart played for the all male lea The The only colleague he wanted to lay was Severus. Good Gilderoy thought him a tragic hero' who'd only needs true love to become as happy and fluffy as a kitten."

"Oh my! And I've had a crush on this idiot!" Hermione shuddered again, but then she giggled. "I'd loved to watch how Professor Snape reacted to that."

"You wouldn't, my darling. I needed a binding spell and two bottles of fire whiskey to prevent Severus from first killing Lockheart and then me for engaging the git. The day after I'd felt as if somebody would have mashed my brain without stirring it properly."

"Poor Albus!" Hermione stroked comfortingly over his tight. "Can I do something to help you over such a rather traumatic experience?" She let her fingertips wander over his length, following the vein poking under the smooth skin.

"I think you're on a good way," Albus said, leaning back. "Just do that again - and I won't forget only the several traumata Severus provided me with, but my own name."

"Don't you worry!" Hermione stroked again. "I know it by heart - though ..." She looked up to him, grinning cheekily. "Now I've got it." She tipped against his member. "That's Percival."

"Actually I've always thought his name is 'BB' like in 'big bother', but if you want to address him as Percival ...,"us cus chuckled.

Hermione tipped against her new friend Percival again. "Percival ...," now she stroke over his left testicle, "Wulfric," she said. Then, petting the right one, she grinned: "And that's Brian. Hello, Brian!" Looking up to Albus, she said: "Percival Wulfric Brian – isn't that what hangs on Albus?"

"Give Wulfric and Brian a little more attention and Percival won't hang anymore," Albus grinned, but his voice sounded throaty again.

Hermione took the velvety sac in her hand and fondled it carefully. "Is it possible that Brian is a bit smaller then Wulfric?" she asked.

"He always was," Albus answered. "Smaller and ... uuuh!" Hermione had just given the right testicle a very little, gentle squeeze. "More responsive ..." Albus finished, breathing heavily.

"Then he shall get a bit extra attention ..." Hermione whispered, fondling and stroking.

"Uuuh ..." Albus moaned.

e the that?" Hermione asked.

"Just ..." he moaned again, "like that!"

Hermione laid her head down on his belly. Now she had two hands to work on him - one for the testicles, one for his shaft and while she played and learned about his reactions, she discovered that pleasing him felt wildly arousing. His moans and the little whimpers, the sighs and the twitching when she hit certain points, the way his cock became hard as steel and how the entire Albus became covered in sweat and how he panted made her feel powerful and strong in a way she'd never felt before. And it felt right finally to straddle him, guiding his cock head to her dropping entrance and to push down on him, moaning now herself with the pleasure of being filled again. And then his hands came up to her breast, cupping and stroking while she rode him until her climax hit her and let her break down on his chest, trembling in his arms. But he was still hard in her and turning her around with one swift move, he started to pond in her, sweat glittering on his face, his jaw clenched as if he were in pain, the forehead wrinkled. Hermione moved with him and felt how the wave took her again and again she screamed his name and came and struggling for breath she opened her eyes and saw his, almost black now, dark poles of indefinite depth and with an expression of utter concentration. His hips seemed to move on their own accord now, long, hard strokes and she felt and heard how his balls slapped against her flesh and once again pleasure overwhelmed her, spiralling higher and higher and during her climax she heard him scream and then there was her own voice, whispering: "I love you, Albus."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: A break

"Marital life doesn't become you, Albus," Severus Snape stated cooly. "Your concentration is slipping."

"Wise cracking doesn't becomes you, Severus," Albus gave back, harsher as he'd actually had wanted. Taking his spectacles down and massaging the bridge of his crooked nose with two fingers he added: "It was a long day ..." Had he hoped to distract his potion master with that? Or had he even hoped for a little mercy? He should have known Severus better. He never stopped before he'd said his say and so it was this time too.

"I am not in wise cracking," Severus said now, leaning back and crossing his long legs in the usual black trousers. "You're looking dreadful, Headmaster. And I was wondering ..." Now he hesitated, cleared his throat and started again, his voice now warmer. "The potion, Albus. I wondered if it perhaps doesn't agree with you ..."

"It's not the potion, Severus," Albus broke in, putting his spectacles back on his nose and looking weary over the pile of parchment spread over his desk. "I haven't taken it in a while."

"But ...," the potion master started.

"Don't tell me I should!" Albus crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm well aware that Lucius won't lay low for ever. He can strike at every moment and no, Severus, I'm not to neglect my marital duties." Albus wasn't aware how much alike his sarcasm was to the potion master's when in defence, but Severus noticed it and rose one elegant eyebrow.

"The girl's going under your skin, Albus," he said. "It seems I'm still able to underestimate a Gryffindor's capability in nerve shattering ..."

"Oh, I don't think they're able to top a certain Slytherin on that," Albus sighed. "Can we talk about our plan now?"

"Our plan?" Once the potion master's eyebrow rose. "But of course we can talk about this insanity of yours. Only I'd like to know why we shall do it just now. I mean, I know why I'm up at this time in the night. I'm the school's resident insomniac. But why are you fleeing the bed you share with your young wife?"

Albus sighed again. Then he rose and walked over to the perch where Fawkes slept, his head under a wing. Stroking the bird's neck with one finger Albus said quietly: "What do you want me to confess, Severus? That I, an ancient wizard of 163 years, find it rather difficult to cope with the fact, that I'm married to an 18 year old witch? This I can easily confess because it's the truth. But - and this may amuse or shock you - the difficulty lays not in finding her nerhatthattering, as you so unpleasant put it. My troubles are rather in the line of liking this certain Gryffindor."

"You're fallen in love with her?" Severus Snape sounded not shocked, but very amazed.

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus!" Albus said weary. "At my age one doesn't fall in love anymore - and especially not with a mere child." Albus sat down behind his desk again.

"The mere child - as you name it - is just developing one of the most interesting theories about the souof mof magic I've ever heard of, " Severus said calmly. "After two weeks of working with her I have to admit, that she's much more as a little know-it-all. She's got a mind, Albus - and it's a brilliant one."

"I'll tell her." For a moment a smile flickering over Albus' withered face. Sighing again, he said: "Back to this insanity of mine - do you really think we can risk Voldemort going first?"

"Albus ..." Severus rose and began to wanders through the headmaster's office. "In the moment he's too weak to move - and even before he never tried. His hubris doesn't reach this far. He knows they could overpower him."

"This, my boy, is what I start to doubt." Albus took a lemon drop out of an inner bag of his robe, put it in his mouth and sucked thoughtfully. "Weakness in the flesh - or whatever the thing is he keeps his spirit in by now - always his hubris grow. And now even his pride is hurt. His hubris made him attack me and he certainly didn't count on a serious drawback. So he's probably desperate now - and this will make him more dangerous as ever."

Severus stopped his pacing in front of the painting of the former Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black who pretended to be asleep, but couldn't resist to glimpse now and then on the potion master. "Dangerous, desperate, mad - yes, yes, but ...," Severus said, looking to the portrait. "What do you think, Phineas Nigellus?"

The wizard in question faked a yawn, then he opened his eyes and said: "As much as I hate to admit, Severus - I think Dumbledore's got a point. He-who-must-not-be-named won't get enough in ruling over the wizard's world. He wants more - and for getting more he'll want to get the evil." Don't fudge, Severus - not facing the truth won't help you."

"Thank you very much for your kind advise," Severus said sarcastic and turned to Albus. "What do you think the dark lord could offer them for their alliance?"

"The same what off offer them: Acceptance," Albus answered as if he'd talk about buying new cauldrons for the school.

"Oh Merlin's ball!" Severus shook his head. "I'm just becoming witness to the greatest wizard alive finally going insane. I probably should call St. Mungo's for getting you a nice, padded cell, Albus." With both hands he ruffled through his black hair. "But let's go back to the start, shall we. How will you find them? They're in hiding since centuries and if not for the victims found now and then, we actually wouldn't even know for sure, if they still exist. I mean, you can't send an owl, addressed to 'The prince of darkness' and hope he'll follows your invitation to tea and cake."

"That's right," Albus admitted calmly. "But I can visit the places we think they're close to. If I'm right with my thinking that they want to come back, then they'll find me."

"And if they're not interested?" Severus asked.

"Then we're not worse," Albus answered. "I'd only wasted a bit time then."

"And given Fudge a chance to get rid of you for good!" Severus came back to Albus' desk and placed himself in the chair in front of it. "What ou tou think he'll do when learning that you try to negotiate with them? I already can see the special edition of the 'Daily Prophet' with the headline: 'Hogwarts' Headmaster banned from the wizard's world. See page 3, 5 and 7' and on page 7 we'll get Rita Skeeter's exclusive report of the wand breaking."

"I don't intend to tell Fudge," Albus smiled and looked at his wizard's watch. "Severus, what do you think of sleeping over it now? Tomorrow we'll have to attend the Yule ball ...," He laughed because his potion master made a face as if he'd just got a rather severe case of toothache, "... and then the students will be gone and we can talk again in quiet and peace."

Severus rose again and pulled his robe from the chair next to him. "I just start to get grateful for the small things, Albus - such as you didn't invent the vampires for the Yule ball. For the moment I won't ask for more, only ...," a tiny smile crossed his face, "... get yourself some rest, Albus. I hate arguing with you when you look so groggy."

Albus watched how Severus left his office, the black robe billowing around him. Slowly he rose then, waved a finger and commanded "nox" . The light on his desk went out and in the dark he turned, walking with bend shoulders to the stairs. As he just started to climb the first, a female voice said: "I didn't want to disagree with you in front of your potion master, Albus, but you were wrong."  
"About what, dear Morgaine?" Albus asked in the direction he knows the portrait of headmistress Morgaine Lancaster was hanging.

"Not about the vampires of course," the old witch said indignantly. "They aren't so worse as your youths paint them. You were wrong about love, Albus."

"Was I?" Albus smiled in the darkness.

"Yes," the portrait said firmly. "Falling in love isn't a question of age. Your age doesn't prevent this rather enchanting wife of yours of falling in love with you and your age didn't prevent you for loving her back. You're only too pigheaded to admit it."

"I promise I'll think about, Morgaine," Albus said kindly. "Good night then."

"Sleep well, dear Albus!" the old witch answered.

As Albus climbed higher, he heard her already snore again. Reaching the gallery over his office, he tipped against a bookshelf, which opened and let him in the drawing room of the main tower where on the table in front of the fire an open book laid next to an empty glass and a half full bottle, carefully corked with a glass stopper. Albus picked up the book, reading its title: "Theory of the animagnus transformation". Laying it back on the table, he opened the bottle, purred red vine in the glass, took it and went to the window.

He was bone-tired and he meant to feel every year of his life weightening down on his shoulders. And yet he didn't want to go up to the bedchamber and with a bitter smile he thought of Severus: "Why are you fleeing the bed you share with your young wife?" How right Severus he'd been. Albus was over-tired because he'd fled this bed over the last days. Or, for being precise: Since Hermione and he were back from their trip to Rome.

Rome - the memory of it had become his personal nightmare. The night with Hermione - he couldn't forgive himself for it. It didn't help to tell himself that he'd gotten a bit too much of vine too - it hadn't been by far enough to let him slip his control so much - and no, he didn't regret that he'd made love to her rather wildly. This she obviously had enjoyed, being the passionate woman she was. But what he couldn't forgive himself was how he'd fallen in the illusion and how probably he'd taken her with him for this fewrs. rs. "I love you, Albus," she'd said - and in this moment she'd probably believed it, drunk and besotted as she was by his charade. And he'd done nothing to break the illusion, just on the contrary: He'd taken her in his arms, giving once more in to the temptation of fooling not only himself, but her too.

The punishment hadn't waited long for to come. Awakening a few hours later in the cold light of dawn, his old body still smelling after sex, his thighs sticky from her juice and his own semen, he'd seen clear again and what he'd seen he'd despised: A lecherous old man, who'd bedded a girl - young enough to be his great-great-granddaughter, using every trick in the book for presenting himself as a true and desirable partner to her.

The sight of her young, sweet body snuggled against him - he couldn't have thought of anything more obscene. He'd felt sick by just feeling her hand on his chest - no, even worse: What had made him so sick he'd have to run for the bathroom hadn't been the sight of her hand, but his body's reaction to it. He had felt the familiar prickling in his groin and for a few seconds images of Hermione, panting and screaming under him, had floated his mind and they'd made him wish - no, he couldn't bring himself to think of it, even now he just couldn't.

And that he couldn't show him clearly: He wasn't only a dirty old man, but a coward too. A coward who couldn't stand another memory, connected to the images of the night: The sight of her pale face as she'd seen him - the real him - at this morning after they'd finally met for breakfast at the dining room of the hotel. Oh, she'd been brave, his little lioness. She'd shown herself once again a true Gryffindor, suppressing the tears and even faking a smile and trying casual chatting over croissants and coffee. Yet he hadn't need legilimency because her eyes had betrayed her forced smile. The sadness in them was evident and so was the trembling of her hands and how she'd avoided every touch and had kept distance and he'd hated himself for his shabby attempts to make it up with persuading her to take expansive Christmas gifts - as if he wouldn't know that she wasn't to corrupt by his wealth. Actually it was sheer malice to try - if she'd have wanted that, she could have gotten it by marrying Malfoy. And probably - strong and clever as she was - she'd have even managed to cope with the boy and then she hadn't needed to sleep with an old man.

At the end of their Sunday in Rome she'd been close to breaking point. He'd felt it and had finally freed her from his presence in lying about a forgotten appointment, conjuring a portkey and sending her back to Hogwarts. He himself had apparated to Knockturn alley where he'd used a disguise for entering a shabby bar, getting himself systematically and royally drunk. The last thing he remembered then was stumbling through the dirty alley and in the arms of a whore. He'd paid her for taking him to her room in a cheap brothel where he'd fallen on a dirty bed and slept until he felt at least capable to walk to an apothecary who he'd got a soberpotipotion. It had helped to clear him enough for making it back to Hogwarts, but he hadn't been of much use there, suffering with a splitting headache and feeling thoroughly miserable.

Since then he'd buried himself in work. He'd already written the letters to the muggle born new Hogwarts pupils who were to attend school in the next summer - much to Minerva's delight because thought 20 years of pestering him to do it "at least once not in the last moment" had now got to him. Not just so much delight he earned from Percy Weasly who obviously hadn't thought of getting mountains of parchment with Wizengamot affairs - starting with the new regulations for portkeys (17 ½ inches of parchment) over 22 inches of associations with the Amen emn embassy to the famous "letters from public" (something normally ignored by all members of the Wizengamot and especially by Albus who was a strong believer in minor complaints working out themselves - and the few which didn't would come back and then it was still early enough to answer them) - back before Christmas and to the amazement of his teachers who weren't in use with the headmaster floating their offices with notes about new books, new curricula and the want of reports just before Christmas.

And now, with his desk more cleared up as it had been in ages, he'd started on developing a plan for getting the vampires - one of the most unknown quantity in the magical world, but without any doubt a very powerful, ancient force - as allies in the war against Voldemort. The reasons for wanting this he'd more then only once explained not only to Severus, but to himself too: Sooner or later Voldemort would try to get at them too - and even in not believing they were as evil as often painted, even in being convinced that the Prince of Darkness as their leader wouldn't himself and his people belittle in becoming a tool of Voldemort, Albus didn't want to risk anything in this special field. He'd once before fought a battle against Voldemort and been only prevented from the total defeat by the wonder which had become the-boy-who-lived, but he couldn't hope for a second miracle. This time it had to end with Voldemort's final defeat - and for getting a chance for it Albus Dumbledore didn't want to risk only the slightest chance in the balance of power anymore.

So he had to negotiate with the Prince of Darkness, even if he couldn't get more of him as the assurance that the vampires wouldn't become involved in the war. And this made for Albus to work on a plan for the negotiations now - at least so he kept telling himself when in the middle of the night standing on his window and looking out in the dark. Yet he was aware, he was fooling himself. Being busy with research - he'd by now read probably every important book written about the subject of vampires and he'd even spent hours in talking with this predecessors of him who had experience with the dark force - was his excuse for cancelling Transfigurations lessons with Hermione and for avoiding her as much as he could.

Only it didn't work as good as he'd hoped because there were the nights he had to spend with her. And in them fate always seemed to laugh at him. Even when he felt totally exhausted after a long night of work, even when he was so tired he'd fallen asleep over a book on his desk - what had happened twice in the last week and he'd always got a cramped and aching neck by it - as soon as he crawled in bed, sleep fled him. His body became wide awake, his senses so sharp he thought he'd hear the never sleeping ghosts roam through the Hogwarts halls, he'd feel the magic in his colleagues and students and even the ancient within the walls of the castle. And he heard and smelt and felt the young body next to him and her warmth and her soft breathing seemed to ring through his entire being like a siren's song. It filled him with a longing he almost couldn't bear.

Had the thought himself lucky because he didn't need a woman's touch anymore? Obviously he'd been wrong in this. Obviously he'd fooled himself in believing so, but this woman, this too young girl, he needed with an he he couldn't remember ever having felt. This woman he wanted with a passion he'd even never thought of being capable of. Laying sleepless next to her, fighting with the desire for her with all the willpower he possessed, he explained to himself, that this lust probably came from her being connected to feeling young again, that his hormones playing havoc in his old body probably were a kind of "after wave" from using the potion - only all explaining, all reasoning didn't help him much. Of course - his conscience felt at least a bit relieved by them. Lusting after a young girl because of a potion certainly felt better as lusting after her because he'd became a dirty old man. So he could sometimes at least calm his conscience a bit, but his mind and body weren't to trick this way - especially not because the girl in question ... only to think of her new developed nig hab habits made him feel a prickle in his groin again. For one thing he by by now sure: Hermione Granger-Dumbledore was far away of being the innocent lamb Minerva thought her to be. Even in his long and rather varied history with women Albus couldn't remember, he'd ever met such a natural talent in getting on him as Hermione had showed over the last days.

It htarttarted already on the first evening after he was back. Instead of showing him a cool shoulder for staying away all night, instead of the ranting and crying he'd almost expected, he'd got a sweet, harmless "Hello, Albus - long day?", followed by the innocent question if he didn't think the bedroom pretty warm? Numb as he still was from too much alcohol, too less sleep and heavy self-loathing, he'd told her - rather harsh, he remembered - that old men like him needed warmth. And Hermione, still in a skirt - and since when were her skirts this short and tight? - showing not only a pair of very nice legs, but the firm buttocks he'd remembered only too well, standing in the door to her bathroom, said - with so much honey in her voice it would have been enough to fill the Hogwarts kitchen's stock for at least a month: "But of course. You shan't freeze, Albus. Don't worry about me - I'll cope." And coped she had - in coming to bed in a nighty so flimsy and tiny the fabric of it wouldn't have been enough to make a handkerchief out. Jumping on the mattress cheerfully, she'd kissed his cheek with a sweet: "Good night, dear Albus sleep well" and had in fact fallen asleep - or not?

He wasn't sure about. He only knew that he'd spent the next two hours in moving closer and closer to the bedside because sleeping - or pretending to be sleeping as the case may had been - Hermione had deposited limbs all over him and used every chance to snuggle against him. After one hour he'd laid almost on the carpet in front of the bed. By then he'd thought himself clever in rising up, wandering around the bed and crawling in again at the empty other side. It hadn't been clever. Really not. First he'd learned that lying now on her pillow made him even more aware of her sweet fragrance and then she'd started the game anew. After another hour he'd laid against on the edge of the bed again, Hermione snuggled against him with her hand on his chest - and yes, his always sensitive nipple had remembered her ministrations very well - and her leg over his thigh, so close to his groin the slender limb hat al tou touched the half erection he'd got by then.

For getting at least a little rest, he'd finally cast a deflating charm - and because he hadn't needed one in a century he'd used too much force by it. So for the next night he'd been at least secured - yet only by feeling as on the day almost 150 years ago as a bludger had hit him directly on his private parts which had - to quote a classmate who saw them in the shower - looked "as bright as a baboon's arse" then. At that time he'd worried about recuperating them to full use again. This time he hadn't had to worry long about that because in the next night Hermione's closeness had got him the prove, that "Percival" and his cronies were still very much interested in the witch next to him. Although he really didn't agree with them - he still was fond enough of his private parts for not trying a deflating charm again.

Instead he'd tried ignorance, distraction (working in his mind of a new curriculum for transfiguration and getting Minerva some hard work to do with it have seemed only fair to him in this moment. Minerva was a female Gryffindor too - and by now he'd felt as if he'd rather deal with all Slytherins when poisoned by a lust portion as with one, single female Gryffindor), ugly images ("Imagine Umbridge naked and chasing you, Percival!" ) and even a cold shower which had gotten his knees and shoulders such a worse case of rheumatic that by waking up he'd been close to a cry for Poppy Pomfrey - if only his knees and shoulders had been the winner in the stiffness competition. Yet it had been his cock again and dealing with an aching erection, rheumatics and Poppy Pomfrey who'd probably tell him, how "cute" a couple Hermione and he made - no, really no. He'd rather suffered through the pain until he'd manage to send Woopy to Severus for getting him a painkilling potion.

And thanks to the gods - after oong ong look over breakfast at least Severus had shown mercy and hard spared Albus the usual "You're not a healer, so don't dabble with medical potions" -speech.

On this morning - has it really been only yesterday? It seemed like ages now - Albus had thought he'd reached the bottom. But he'd been wrong again. It had become worse in the last night because he'd been idiotic enough to lay on his side with his back to Hermione. She'd used this position to his fullest disadvantage: Curling against his back, she'd put her mouth on his neck - just on the most sensitive spot on his hairline! - and hung an oh-so-innocent hand over his tight, so that her fingertips just touched the tip of his penis through the fabric of his nightshirt. And by doing so she'd finally broken through his defence - in the morning he'd found himself under the shower, masturbating desperately until he'd got relief - joyless and ashamed of himself. 

Standing on the landing in the festive decorated entrance hall of Hogwarts, a smile firmly plastered on his withered face, shoulders straight under the heavy red and golden dress robe, head erect and with Hermione on his arm, Albus knew that he looked again "the very model of Hogwarts great headmaster" (as Hermione had named it), only he didn't feel so. He'd managed through another night and day, he'd even managed to pay Hermione a compliment as she'd met him in their bedroom before going to the hall - and yes, she'd deserved it and he'd been honest as he'd told her she'd look absolutely ravishing - but now he wasn't sure if he could manage through the evening.

The Yule Ball at Hogwarts had always been a social gathering of high importance and even in times when Fudge & Co. had tried to destroy Albus' reputation, witches and wizards had almost killed for getting an invitation. But on this evening, with the guests streaming through the great door and getting in line for becoming welcomed by him, Albus didn't feel the pride of former years. Of course, he still loved Hogwarts with a devotion he sometimes wondered about himself and yes, he was well aware that entertaining the rich and the beautiful of the magical world made for the generous donations which allowed him to run the school as he did, but he nevertheless longed for the peace and solitude of his office. Just seating there, talking quietly to Fawkes - who'd decided this evening to show himself in the entrance hall, seating proudly, as if he'd belong to the decoration, on top of the biggest Christmas tree - Albus longed so much for it that he needed all his willpower not to run away.

Fawkes thrilled and a single, golden feather fell graciously from the tree's top, hovering for a moment over Albus and Hermione. Then she caught it with her free hand, while the other, lying on his arm, for second pressed the fabric of his robe firmly. Still smiling and without looking to her, he whispered, hardly moving his lips, an encouraging "Lioness" and got in the same fashion a "May I hex him?" back, while Lucius Malfoy, his wife Narcissa on his arm, entered the hall. Both wore expansive dress robes after the newest fashion and their usual "Oh-it-so-boring-to-fulfil-one-social-duties" sneer while they got in line.

Albus whispered: "Only if I may hold your cloak then" and then bowed to the couple just coming up the stairs - a rather shy looking young witch, obviously another victim of the marriage law with a fat, old wizard at her side. Albus did the honours as he'd done often before on this evening - a handshake for the wizard, a courteous hand kiss and a compliment for the witch (in half a century as Hogwarts headmaster he'd got himself a rather big repertoire of variations on the subject "you look pretty"), the usual inquiry after the well-being and finally the new invention of "May I present you to my wife? Hermione, that's Mister and Mistress Theythinkthemselvespillarsofourcommunity ...".

And yes, he had to admit, that he rather enjoyed how some pompous old ass and their wives cringed by finding themselves presented to an 18 year old still-student girl.

By marching to this routine with the fat old wizard and his pale wife he watched out of the corner of his eyes the Malfoys. Narcissa, once in her Hogwarts days a stunning beauty, now reminded him of an ice cube - a well polished one with wearing so much jewellery even the Christmas tree with Fawkes on its top paled against her. Her husband wore black velvet as if he'd want to mock with reminding people on a death eaters costume - but even so he didn't look as self-confident as in former years. His pale, grey eyes had for a moment in which he didn't notice Albus' glance on him an almost fearful expression and Albus immediately decided that he was to have a word with Severus later about Malfoy senior. Perhaps Voldemort's last fallback had weakened Lucius' belief in his lord and master?

Albus was determined to find out - but not now, because now he felt Hermione's grip on his arm once again becoming firm. She was watched by - or was it starred at? - both Malfoys and for the first time on this evening Albus felt like twinkling. The look on Narcissa's face was absolutely priceless. Albus certainly didn't need legilimency - he could see how Narcissa Malfoy estimated the value of Hermione's Parisian dress robe and the jewellery she wore. Albus felt once again proud of Hermione - and grateful to a certain Virginia Weasley. Knowing both girls Albus was sure, that Ginny's sense of style had helped to make the pretty girl Hermione was to the breath taking beauty on his arm. Probably it had been Ginny's idea to make Hermione wear her necklace as a band in her open hair (tamed and silkened by a potion) with the big opal lying on her forehead. Hermione looked like a precious, exotic princess with it and Albus knew for sure: Narcissa Malfoy wasn't the only person who saw Hermione as the sensation of the evening. He thought so himself, he'd seen the look of wonderment in Severus' eyes, he'd heard Ron Weasley shout a "Whow - Hermione looks cool" all over the stairs and he'd crossed Minerva with the advise "Get a grip at yourself" as she'd almost cried in delight by seeing Hermione approach.

Now the next guests marched in the hall and Albus suppressed a sigh. Courtesy demanded he'd now step down at least to the middle of the stairs to welcome Minister Cornelius Fudge who - flanked to his left by Dolores Umbridge, looking like a toad after a failed transfiguration (Albus could almost hear Minerva: "No, Miss Umbridge, you won't receive a mark for that. I've said you should change the toad in a goblet. I didn't say you should give it pink fur") and on his right by his wife, so grey and mousy that Albus sent a warning glance up at Fawkes ("No, Fawkes - a minister's spouse is neither a dish for a phoenix nor for a falcon!" ). Fudge boomed a "Am I late? Sorry for that - as your minister of magic I'm always heavily in demand" and looked around as if he'd expect all other guests to sink down on their knees for praising him.

Yet behind Fudge & Co. Albus saw another couple, certainly not as glorious as the Malfoys, but with their beaming they sent a rush of warmth to Albus. Making eye contact with Molly Weasley - she always was bit quicker and thinking and reacting as her sometimes very dreamy Arthur - he bent to Hermione: "Let's walk down to welcome the minister."

Together they marched down the stairs to the landing in their middle, in the same time Fudge, his wife and Umbridge came up, closely followed by Arthur and Molly Weasley. Once again the ceremonial took its way: Bending, greeting, paying a compliment to Mrs Fudge (though not to Umbridge - even Albus' courtesy didn't reach this , pr, presenting Hermione (with the sudden wish to dismember Fudge who almost slobbered by looking deeply in her cleavage), then turning and walking with them up again, yet by doing so Albus managed to fall back a bit with Hermione, so that they could welcome the Weasleys and accompany them to the upper landing. Arriving there again, Albus turned and provided the Malfoys with a smile so innocent and harmless Lucius really became irritated. Once again Albus didn't need magic to know, that Lucius in fact wasn't sure if he'd just had become affronted by purpose or if Albus "the doddering old fool" simply had for a moment forgotten his manners.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The ball and the boy who lived to save the day

The ball was in full swig and obviously it was once again a success with the guests and students and teachers of Hogwarts amusing themselves immensely and after Severus - who wasn't much entertained by the music the "Wicked Witches" were playing, but obviously liked watching the Malfoys struggle to keep up with showing manners while they surely wished to hex at least 99 % of those present - had taken over from Harry in once again saving Hermione out of the claws of a certainly too amused minister of magic, Albus could give himself at least a moment's rest. Taking a goblet with champagne from one of the trays hovering along the walls of the great hall, he sank down in one of the chairs at the round table under the big Christmas tree, stretching his long legs and wriggling his toes in the polished black shoes he was wearing. Know that he were to stand to dto dance through a long night, he'd of course provided himself with a cushion charm on his feet, but by now it seemed to have wore off and so his old feet were aching.

Looking to the dance floor in the middle of the hall he watched Hermione waltzing in the arms of his potion master and although Severus wore his usual black - admittedly he'd made concessions to the event in changing the plain teaching robes with a velvet dress robe, the high collar embroidered with tiny, silver snakes and binding his hair back in a neatly pony tail. By no means a handsome man, Severusked ked now rather good in a dark, patrician way. And with gracious moving, smiling, dashing Hermione in his arm - Albus was convinced that even Filch would have looked glorious with her as a dancing partner - Severus was a sight. And now she rose her head, looked in Severus' eyes and he whispered something in her ears - Albus didn't need expendable ears to know that it was probably something pretty malicious towards the minister - and Hermione laid her head back, laughing and showing not only Severus, but Albus her throat - creamy white skin, so silken one meant to see her red blood running through it. It didn't need more - in the moment Albus saw her throat, the misery he'd pushed in the darkest corner of his mind over the last hours, so well hidden that he'd almost managed to forget about, was back.

He remembered - and oh, how well he remembered! - how this throat of hers felt under his lips, he remembered the warmth and the pulsing of the blood on it and the sweet smell and the salty taste of her sweat and the sound she'd made as kissed her then, something between a whimper, a moan and a chuckle. And he remembered how her young body felt against his, the wonderful, torturing pressure of her firm breasts against his chest and her flat belly against his round one - and damn him, he'd never should have allowed her to kiss him when he was in his old body! It would have been bad enough to live with the memory of Hermione and his younger body, but it was agony to remember that she in Rome had kissed him passionately as he'd been his true self, the old man with the weak, softened body. To live with this memory without storming to the dance floor, throwing her away from Severus and pushing her in the next dark corner he only managed in telling himself once again, that she'd only done so because she'd been drunk and in the dark. She hadn't seen him by this kiss; she hadn't been aware that her lips were on a mouth so old and weathered like his.

Suddenly Albus heard a voice rubbing down on his nerves like sandpaper. Cornelius Fudge had approached the table, seating himself down next to Albus, a glass with fire whiskey in his hand and a fake as false as Leprauchon's gold in his face. "If I were in your shoes, Dumbledore," he said, "I wouldn't let my young wife dance so close with a former death eater."

Albus forced his features back in the benevolent smile he mostly used when talking to Fudge and he even managed to produce a twinkle before he answered: "You wouldn't like being in my shoes, Cornelius. Especially the left one is just becoming rather tight."

Fudge laughed as if Albus would just have told him an obscene joke, then he leaned closer, his breath smelling after the fire whiskey. "You rather surprised us with this marriage of yours. Who'd have thought you're such a dog, getting yourself such a toothsome sweetheart to bed. A head girl for the headmaster - tell me, Dumbledore: Who's giving who head then?"

It was probably an one time moment in the history of Hogwarts and - as Albus thought immediately - one Severus Snape would have dwelled in happily for a century to come if he'd have witnessed it: Cornelius Fudge, minister of magic and proven pain in every British wizards arse, had truly and really managed to get Albus Dumbledore at a loss for words. For a few seconds he could only stare at the minister, unable to belief what he'd just heard. And then, as he found himself thinking about a real nasty tongue swelling jinx, perhaps connected with a big furuncle on Fudge's thick bottom he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a voice gently speaking his name.

"Albus?" The cavalry had came to his rescue - in form of Hermione, flanked by Severus who smirked down on Fudge as if he were something Filch's cat Miss Norris had pulled out of a dirty corner.

Albus managed a "Yes, my dear?" which sounded hoarse even to himself and rose up.

Hermione led her hand slid down from his shoulder to his arm, but didn't look at him, but smiled to Fudge, showing her perfect teeth by it in a way every model in a toothpaste advertisement would have been proud of and said: "Minister, I hope I'm not interrupting something important, but I've longed all evening to get my husband for a dance - and with the band just playing our song ... would you kindly excuse us?" And without waiting for an answer from fuddled Fudge, she took Albus' hand, purred a "Please, Darling" and pulled her husband with her to the dance floor.

"I didn't know we have a song," Albus said, reaching there and taking Hermione in his arms.

"We've just got one," Hermione smiled in his eyes. Wearing high heels, she was for once almost as tall as he was and her mouth almost touched his by speaking. "Albus? May I hold your cloak while you hex him? You've just looked as if he'd said the naughtiest thing thinkable."

"He did." Albus started to dance. "And you've just saved"

"... his sorry arse?" Hermione finished the line for him, moving graciously through a rotation in his arms. "I actually only did because Severus begged me to."

Albus felt a pang of jealousy as he heard her use the potion master's given name so casually. Probably Fudge had once in his life been right about something? Albus swallowed, forced a smile again - by now the muscles in his face were already aching - and said: "I actually never thought of Severus as the merciful type. Especially not when it comes to me suffering at Fudge's impertinence."

"It wasn't mercy, Albus. It was sheer egoism," Hermione chuckled. "He said he'd loathe me to slobber all over my potions because you're in Azkaban. Besides he's afraid of what Harry and I would do to get you out there."

"Hmm - I'd like to know. It would be worth a few days in a cell, I think," Albus answered - and cursed himself in the same moment. Hadn't he sworn himself he wouldn't flirt with her anymore? He knew only too well where this lead - and loo, they were already on this road again with Hermione laying her cheek on his, moving closer and whispering:

"But I would miss you - even for a few nights."

"I'm sure you'd get yourself comforted quickly," he heard himself answering - and couldn't believe he'd really said that. Her back under his hand tensed and he felt how her entire body became rigid. "Hermione ..." He started, feeling more ashamed of himself as he could remember for all his life. "I am ..."

"No, Albus Dumbledore!" Hermione interrupted his lame attempt to apologize. "You've said quite enough for one night." Her voice had became a bit louder by saying the last words and he broke in:

"Hermione, please - we're in public!"

"Don't you worry, Headmaster!" Now her voice was a whisper - a deadly, cold whisper. "I won't disgrace you - or me - in making a scene in public. I even won't make you one in private. But I'd be very grateful if you'd spare me your company until I've cooled down enough to resist the urge to hex you into the next year."

Her eyes blazed with a fury which made Albus swallow what he'd just wanted to say. And now she didn't dance anymore and he couldn't do otherwise as bowing to her - the only chance to make her departure look as if in agreement with her. Watching for a second her back as she swept to the table where Harry, Ginny and Ron sat, he finally turned himself and walked over to the Weasley's table. Arthur was deep in conversation with his neighbour Alastor Moody while his always ebullient Molly looked longingly to the dance floor, her foot clapping lightly in tact with the music. With all willpower Albus possessed he forced a smile and lied to her: "Hermione just reminded me that I haven't danced with you yet - what's quite a shame. So would you do me the honour?"

Considered that he'd just insulted the girl Molly saw as her second daughter, he wouldn't wondered to become rebuked by her, but for his luck Molly hadn't noticed Hermione's rathuickuick exit. So she beamed at him - so full of trust and affection he almost blushed - and sprang to her feet. Laying her hand on the arm he offered her, she said: "I'd love to dance with you, Albus" and walked with him to the dance floor.

They waltzed through the first steps of a slow dance and despite the self-hatred Albus suffered with - it was comforting to feel warm, motherly Molly close to him. Yet as she started to talk, misery hit him once again because her first words were: "Hermione looks so lovely tonight! I've always thought her a wonderful girl, but now she'd become a beauty too." And with the frankness he'd always liked on her, she proceeded: "And it's amazing how she keeps up with the situation. It can't be easy for her. I mean - don't get me wrong, Albus: You're a wonderful man too, but ..."

"... I'm old enough to be her great-great-grandfather," Albus said calmly after Molly had fallen silent, "and under other circumstances Hermione would never had married me, but probably your youngest son."

To his surprise Molly shook her head. "I don't think so, Albus. I love Ronald as I love all my children and I'm very proud of him, but I'm not one of the mothers so befuddled with their brood, they can't see them for what they really are. Ron would never have been a match for Hermione. What she needs is somebody who's able to stand up to her, somebody she respects." Squeezing his hand lightly, she smiled and said: "She could have been served worse then with you, Albus. And you know ...," she sunk her voice to almost a whisper, "... as we entered the hall this night and I saw her stand there, next to you ..."

"You became aware again that we're a very odd couple - she just starting to bloom and I ..." His tone had become so furious, he ha sto stop himself. Shouting at the dance floor wouldn't do, it would only add to his embarrassment.

"Albus!" Molly sounded shocked. Looking up to him, she took a deep breath, then she said her voice almost as crisp as Minerva's when rebuking a pupil: "This was not what I wanted to say! And his even was not what I thought." Now she spoke gentle again, almost like a mother comforting her child: "She loves you, Albus. It's in her eyes whenever she looks at you."

Albus fell out with the tact of the music, almost stepping on Molly's toes, bracing himself for force he said: "I beg your pardon, Molly." Both knew he didn't mean his dancing, but Molly Weasley had never been a witch to been stopped this easily.

Quietly, but firmly she said: "Is this why you never married before, Albus? Because you can't believe in being loved?"

Albus suppressed a sigh. It hadn't been a good idea to ask Molly for a dance. It was obviously not his day with ladies, especially not with ladies so strong and stubborn as Hermione Granger and Molly Weasley. Once again he wished himself back in the solitude of his office, but because he couldn't escape, he said with forced calm: "Molly, the girl is just 18 years old. At this age a girl doesn't know what love means."

For a moment the witch in his arms was silent and he started to hope she'd spare him further comments to the subject, but then she opened her mouth again. "I was 14 when I've fallen in love with Arthur."

"Who's only two years your se," A," Albus reminded her.

"This is not the point, Albus. The point is: I was four years younger then Hermione as I fell in love - and this love still lasts. After almost 30 years and six children I still love Arthur as I loved him in being a 14 year old girl in Hogwarts. And if this isn't enough for you - look at my daughter! Would you belittle her love for Harry in saying 'She's just 17'? Do you really believe that Hermione's feelings for you aren't more as a silly schoolgirl'ssh? sh? Then you're not the man I took you for."

Once again this evening he had to sink his head, saying: "I'm sorry."

Once again the witch in his arms didn't forgive him. With a severe: "You really should be!" which made him feel like a rebellious toddler, Molly Weasley energetic took the lead in their dancing, shoved him back to the table where her husband sat, got out of his embrace and sat down with a curt: "Thanks for the dance, Headmaster."

And once again he only could bow and walk away, but this time he made straight to the bar where Dobby, the free house elf, wearing not only socks, short and shirt, but five hats as a sign for being free, sd thd the strong drinks. Albus ordered himself a glass of fire whiskey, emptied it with one gulp and ordered Dobby to refill it again. As he just set it at his lips he heard the silken voice of his potion master.

"Don't you want to dance with Minerva, Albus?"

"Oh, thanks." Albus drank the fire whiskey and hold the glass to Dobby again. "I think I'm done with dancing this night."

"Pity." Severus' black eyes glittered. "You could have broken my record, you know? Even I never managed to piss off more then two Gryffindor ladies in one night." Raising his glass he made a mock bow to his headmaster. "Slainthe, Albus!" 

The phoenix flied a capriole. Rolling around himself in the cold air of the winter night, he saile moment on his back, chirping cheerfully. Then he turned around again and, beating his wings twice, increased over the falcon that glided slowly down to the dark form which was the Hogwarts school of Wizardry and Witchcraft. Landing on the stone rail at the balcony of the Astronomy Tower, he sat there for a moment quietly, his wing only half closed, the tip of the left touching the stone beneath him as if he'd try to brace it ther

T

The phoenix hooted - a soft and soundound, almost human. The falcon looked up to him out of his sharp black eyes and for a moment it looked as if he were to take flight again, but then, opening his wings only half, he let himself fall down on the balcony, where he changed to a tall wizard with a long, silver mane and a beard reaching the buckle of his red and gold robe.

The phoenix still hovered over the tower and now his chirp sounded disappointed. Albus looked up to him. "Go playing, Fawkes!" he said tely. ly. "I'm sure Buckbeak would enjoy a ride with you."

Another chirp, sounding like a farewell, then Fawkes began to increase again over the tower until he wasn't more as a tiny golden spot moving between the stars. Albus who'd watchem gom go, sank his head then and pulled his robe closer. Actually he'd wanted to fly from the Astronomy Tower to the Main Tower, but now he felt not only too tired for dealing with the tricky winds over the Hogwarts roofs and grounds, but too weary for changing too. He was even so exhausted he hoped he would perhaps on his way back to the Main Tower come across the room of requirement to find a bed there where he could fall in soft oblivion. He was sure: This night he could have slept next to Hermione - only this was not an option because she'd made pretty clear that she didn't want him next to her. So if the room of requirement wouldn't show up, it would have to be the sofa in the living room.

Albus almost smiled by thinking of it. He remembered a few nightly visits from Augustus McGonagall, looking sheepishly and saying: "Would you mind if I would sleep on your sofa? I'm afraid I'm crossed Minerva ..." And once, during a Christmas break, Albus had found Arthur Weasley on a sofa in Grimmault Placcauscause Molly had after an argument kicked him out of the bedroom they shared. Perhaps, Albus thought, the point "able and willing to sleep on sofas sometimes" was one of the demands female Gryffindors had on their "what is to be expected from a husband" -list?

He yawned and made for the door. As he just laid his hand on the cold handle, he heard a voice: "Good evening, Professor Dumbledore - or should I say, good morning, Headmaster?" On the little niche next to the door sat Harry, his back against the wall, his legs on the bench, and arms around his knees.

Albus smiled tiredly to him. "Considered it's still dark and we both haven't seen our beds yet, I'd say 'Goodnight, Albus, I'm on my way to bed' would do best," he answered. "What are you doing up there in the middle of the night, Harry?"

"I've had a row with Ginny," the boy said quietly.

"So you're in need of a sofa?" Albus said and shook his head then. "Sorry, Harry - private joke."

Harry didn't seem to have heard. Calmly he said: "It was about you, Headmaster."

Albus sighed, said farewell to his hope for finding a bed in the next five minutes, provided the boy and himself with a quick warming spell and lent against the wall next to Harry. "Actually," he said, "I don't think I'm a good subject for young lovers to quarrel about."

"Oh, but you are. You are actually our favourite subject to argue about," Harry gave back, his voice laden with sarcasm. "Ginny still adores you."

Actually, Albus thought, it was quitnny nny how alike Harry and Severus were. They were so alike it was probably the main reason they couldn't stand each other. Yet telling Harry this wouldn't help - on the contrary. Probably he'd become even more angry then. So Albus swallowed a comment. Fate really didn't like him much this days. He had put the point "Talk with Harry" on his agenda for the Christmas break and by doing so he'd hoped fiercely to break through the barricade from guilt and disappointment standing between Harry and him, but he'd wished to have this talk in his office over tea and not standing on the Astronomy Tower in the middle of a cold winter night when he felt already a complete and utter idiot. Yet he'd learned that delaying a Gryffindor only add to troubrouble - their typical mixture from courage and hot temper made mostly for boiling rages when they were tried too long. So Albus resigned in his fate, saying calmly: "So you want to see Virginia Weasley the light - or, better said, the dark about me?"

"Yes, Headmaster." Harry's voice was as chilly as the wind. "I want her to see the truth before she becomes hurt by you too."

"And you, Harry, are the keeper of the truth?" Albus asked, cautiously keeping his voice down and calm.

The boy - no, young man because by now he wasn't a child any longer - looked back at him and his dark eyebrows almost became one straight line. "You know, Headmaster, sometimes I think in your case the sorting hat was wrong. You'd have made a perfect Slytherin with your cunning and scheming and using people as pawns in the game you are playing with an arrogance matching Voldemort's."

Albus crossed his arms over his chest. "No, Harry, the sorting hat wasn't wrong in my case for I was a Slytherin."

If he'd thrown a bomb it couldn't have worked better. Harry jumped on his feet, standing in front of the headmastAlthAlthough grown up over the last years to what was probably his full height, he wasn't as tall as Albus, and therefore he'd to raise head for looking up in his eyes. "You are a ...," he shouted.

" ... Slytherin," Albus finished calmly. "Indeed, I am. And I've never denied it."

"But you never told it either!" Harry accused him.

"Harry, I'm the headmaster of Hogwarts. That means I'm to stand above the houses and their rivalry," Albus tried to explain.

"Oh yes. Standing above is something you're damn good at!" Harry looked as if he'd like to jump on Albus, fighting him with his fists. "You're always above - above so meaningless things as the cupboard under the stairs you made me live in for years, much above about Sirius' misery as you judged him to be stuck in a house he hated. You were even above his death. He was a pawn in your game - and who are you to care for the fates of your pawns?" He came closer, his eyes blazing with fury lon long harboured grudge. "Tell me, Headmaster: Why do we fight Voldemort? I don't believe in your high morale motives any more. I don't believe you do it for saving the light."

Albus sank his head, looking down for a moment to his feet. He was so tired! But perhaps this was good so because it made for hearing Harry's word, but only feeling a numb pain by them. Breathing deeply, he asked - and he sounded by it as if he would talk about quidditch tact"You"You think it's abouabout power?"

"You're a Slytherin, aren't you?" Harry gave back and laughed hollowly. "I've always felt it."

Albus nodded. Then he sat down on the bench Harry had used before. "As I was in school here, I've had two friends - Edward and Elizabeth. We were so close with each other as Ronald, Hermione and you ..."

Harry shifted. "I don't think I'm interested in your antics, Headmaster," he said angrily. "Distraction won't work this time."

"I'm not to distract you, Harry," Albus' voice became a bit sharper. "Yet I insist of the accused's right to defend himself before becoming judged! Therefore you'll kindly hear me out." Calm again he proceeded: "Back to my friends - who were Slytherins like me. Elizabeth was one of the kindest persons I've ever met in my life and Edward only wanted to become a powerful wizard - which he was - to defene wee weak. It was them who helped me to defeat Grindelwald and without them I could never had managed. Yet Edward died in the battle - he sacrificed himself by saving young Minerva McGonagall. But Edward left back a wife and a young son. This son's name was Harold Edward Albus Potter and as far as I'm informed, you're named after him. He was your grandfather. And by the way: Harry Potter I was a Slytherin too - and he died only a few weeks before you were born as one of the patients he tend to in St. Mungos - a victim of Voldemort - went wild and attacked him. Do you want to learn more about Slytherins? Especially Potters in Slytherin? In the generation before mine there were once four of them at the same time in Slytherin ..."

For a moment Harry fell silent. Then he asked quietly: "What became from my great grandfather's sister Elizabeth? She isn't alive anymore?"

"No, she isn't. If she were she'd surely raised you. Elizabeth died as she gave birth in the age of 52 to her only son. She knew she wouldn't make it through a birth because Grindelwald had weakened her. But Lilibeth always was very Potter-ish: Stubborn and brave. She wanted to provide the man she loved with what she thought he'd wish more as anything else: An heir. Unfortunately she was wrong - as Potters sometimes are when making lonely decisions. What Agrippa really would have wanted was to life with Elizabeth. So he was never able to forgive his son that he had caused his mother's death and so your grand uncle Tiberius became a unhappy man himself who made the childhood of his only son Severus a living hell."

"Severus as in Severus Snape?" Harry panted as he'd done a run. "You don't want to tell me that I'm related to him!"

"But you are, Harry," Albus stated quietly. "All pureblood families - and the Potters are a rather old one - are related. Even we are related. My younger sister Athena was your great-grandmother."

"Don't say she was a Slytherin too!" Harry once again sounded like the potion master he detested so much.

"She wasn't. She was a Gryfor,"or," Albus said.

"At least one decent member of the family," Harry snorted and turned to the rail.

"Is it really so simple, Harry?" Albus rose and stepped to the young man. "All Gryffindors are kind and decent and brave and good and all Slytherins are evil? I thought by now you've become a bit more adult and able to see through such simplicities."

"Perhaps ..." Harry turned around, facing the headmaster again. "I'll become adult on the day you stop treating me as a child?" Breathing deeply he proceeded: "You know, Headmaster, the reason for my row with Ginny was, that she'd almost succeeded in persuading me to forgive you. She told me again and again, that I'm unfair in expecting omnipotence from you, that you were - though she'd be the last person to underestimate you - in the end only human too and that as a human you'd deserve a second chance. She'd really was close to get me ..." He fell silent, looking again away from Albus and down at the grounds.

"And what do you think I did wrong?" Albus asked.

Harry gripped the rails so hard his knuckles paled. "You repeated the mistake, Headmaster," he whispered. "You remember telling me it would have been a mistake not to trust me, Headmaster?"

"Yes, I do," Albus answered. "And I remember I told you too that I regret it."

"No, Headmaster, you don't." Harry turned around again, his robe billowing. "You don't care a fucking damn about!" he shouted. "You prove on a daily base that you couldn't care less, that other people still aren't more to you as pawns! You didn't learn from your mistake because you think yourself above learning! And you know ...," once again his voice became quiet and icy, "... I've actually learned to live with being your tool and future pet killer. I must admit I didn't like much to find myself in the same league as your pet death eater spy Snape, but as I've said: I've come in use with it. But I won't come in use with Hermione becoming your victim too."

Albus wondered how he managed to make it back to the bench to sank down on it. He'd knew that Harry didn't trust him anymore, he'd even knew that the boy couldn't forgive him his godfather's death, but once again the difference between academic knowledge and experienced emotions hit him so hard he feared to break down with. He took up his spectacles and hiding hace ace in his hands, he felt tears burning in his eyes. "I didn't marry Hermione because I wanted it," he tried to defend himself.

"Oh, I know!" Harry's voice was cold. "And you don't fail to remember her on this on a daily base, do you? Probably a Hermione always aware that you actually don't think her good enough for being your wife, is easier to handle. Yet the biggest cruelty against her is, that you - I don't know how and I don't want to learn about - first managed to make her fall in love with you and now, when she's vulnerable, you dance on her heart in nailed boots. I start to think she'd been better off with marrying Malfoy, you know? With him she'd knew that she'd have to watch her back."

For a few, heavy lasting seconds neither of them said a word and their breathing - Harry's deep and long, Albus' rather short and struggled - was the only sound in the quiet winter night. Finally Albus' voice - hardly more then a whisper - broke the silence. "I've obviously forgotten that being young means often being merciless too."

"Is Hermione merciless against you, Headmaster?" Harry asked.

Albus considered for a moment, his head still in his hands. "Yes," he said then, "Yes - in a way she is. She expects what I can't give her."

"You can't?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "You can't, Headmaster?" he repeated then. "I think you could if only you would want to, if only you would learn from your mistake with me." His voice became quiet again. "You know, I've always thought it's all about me - weak, miserable, failing me - that you're not willing to trust. I could have forgiven you that. But now we're talking about Hermione - brilliant, strong Hermione, the girl who was in her first Hogwarts year clever enough to solve Snape's potion puzzle, the girl who found out about the basilisk as she was a second year, the girl who made it through death eater attacks and the death of her parents with only becoming stronger then weak. We're talking about a girl who was not only brave enough to marry you, but even managed to reach out over the age cleft of almost 150 years to love you. Why can't you trust her?"

Once again Albus didn't answer immediately. And once again Harry became impatient and almost started to speak again, but in the same moment Albus said: "First: I never thought you weak and failing, Harry. Believe me or not, but I've always adored your strength. Second: I'm well aware that Hermione is a very special person and probably the strongest witch Hogwarts had seen in centuries. But you're wrong in one point: Hermione doesn't love me. At least not the me you see in front of you. Hermione has fallen in love with an illusion - an illusion I made up in the belief it would help her. For this you can and shall blame me, but I doubt you can do more as I do myself." He looked up to Harry, his old eyes burning with tears. "I can't remember I've ever felt so complete and utterly lost. I don't know what to do anymore, I have neither a plan nor an idea how to get her and myself out of this misery, I even don't know how to make it through the next encounter with her. I'm at my wits end, Harry."

His words seemed to touch Harry. Still suspicious, but not sounding hateful, he asked: "What have you done, Headmaster?"

Albus swallowed, keeping his voice as neutral as possible as he confessed: "If you'd ask me a few days before, I'd said: I wanted to spare Hermione doing her 'marital duty' ...," he almost spat the word out, "...with an old man. But by now I have to think that I probably wanted to spare me the humiliation of raping a girl who's repulsed by me. So I used a potion which changes my appearance for a few hours. With doing so I created an illusion Hermione fell victim to. I've fooled her, Harry - and I've fooled myself too, not only in the belief this could work, but ..." He fell silent, once again struggling for breath and fighting against tears.

"Headmaster ..." Harry sat down on the bench next to him and for a little moment he touched Albus' bend shoulders. "This potion - was it something like polyjuice?"

Albus actually thought such details rather unimportant, but now he'd chose honesty, so he answered: "Not exactly. Polyjuice changes the user to another person's appearance. The potion I drank changed mine ..." Seeing that Harry still didn't grasp it, he added: "I became my younger self - Albus Dumbledore in his middle thirdies."

"But then ...," Harry stroke through his hair, looking absolutely puzzled. "I fail to understand the problem, Professor Dumbledore," he said then. "I mean, Hermione knows about the potion, doesn't she?"

"Of course she does," Albus answered. His tiredness was even worse by now and he feared to break down on Harry's shoulder. Yawning he almost didn't hear Harry starting anew.

"Headmaster, you are underestimating Hermione!" The boy said very firmly. "Let me ask you one personal question, may I?"

If Albus hadn't been so utterly exhausted, he'd probably laughed. After all what Harry had said, this respectful inquiry sounded more then strange. "You may," he said.

"Do you ...," Harry seemed to search for words. Clearing his throat he tried again: "I mean - do you like her - Hermione, that is."

Despite his weariness Albus managed to produce a little smile. "Of course I do, Harry. I'd even say it's more as liking her. I care for her and ..." Now he was searching for words.

"You're fond of her?" Harry offered.

"Yes," Albus nodded. "I certainly am fond of her."

"Then ..." Harry smiled and even through the haze Albus could recognize that this was a genuine smile, "... you're talking to the wrong person, Headmaster." Becoming serious again, he said: "Please, Professor Dumbledore: Trust Hermione. Talk with her. Tell her what you've told me. Give her and you a chance to solve your problems. You know, Ginny kept telling me I could only solve my problem with you in talking to you. I think it's the same with Hermione and you."

"Have you solved your problem with me, Harry?" Albus fought to keep his eyes open.

"I think ..." Harry hesitated and looked for a moment to the sky. Then he said: "Not entirely. But I feel better. And you will feel better if you talk with Hermione, Headmaste

"Probably you're right, Harry," Albus said slowly. He couldn't think anymore, he hardly could speak; he only wanted to sink down and to sleep.

"Will you try then?" Harry asked.

Albus fought another wave of exhaustion, nodding slowly then. "I promise I will ..." He thought of saying something about going to bed now, of telling Harry he should get some rest too crossed his mind, but he was too tired for forming words and opening his mouth again.

"Headmaster?" Harry looked at him, then he shook his head. "Ginny and Hermione are going to kill me," he said quietly and then, louder, once again: "Headmaster? Professor Dumbledore?"

"Sorry ..." Albus voice was thick with sleep. "I only need a moment's rest, then ..."

"I don't think so." Harry rose and took Albus' arm, pulling him gentle, but firmly up. "I don't think I'd survive Ginny's and Hermione's rage if I would let you sleep here. So let's get you in your bed."

Stumbling almost in the threshold, Albus tried to kick himself out of the stupor his mind were in, but couldn't get himself to do more then shuffling down the chairs and through the hall, led and supported by Harry. And Albus was glad for the help - he knew he wouldn't have managed the way without the young man.

As they reached the spiral staircase, Albus almost slept on his feet, leaning hard on Harry, who laid his arm around the headmaster's middle section and said, by now almooundounding amused: "I take it your bedchamber is above the living rooms?"

" ... mione doesn't want me the..." Albus murmured.

Harry shook again his head. "She won't hex you while you're out," Harry promised. "She prefers her victim conscious."

A few seconds later they arrived at the door of the bedroom. Harry knocked and called: "Hermione? Are you there? I've got something here what actually belongs to ..." He didn't come to finish, because Hermione opened the door, wearing her teddy bear pyjamas and looking rather young with her tussled hair. Seeing her husband hanging on her best friend's shoulder, she paled. "What happened? What did you do to Albus?" she cried. "Is he injured?"

Albus actually was sleeping, but her terrified voice he heard. Forcing his eyes open, he muttered: "Don't worry - I'm fine!" fixed the bed and tried to shuffle there, but once again he stomped and would have landed flat on his face if Hermione hadn't caught him.

"My, my," she said, helping him to bed where he immediately fell down, "if this condition is your fine one, I really hope I'll never get to see you feeling bad."

Albus didn't answer. In the moment his head had hit the pillow, he'd fallen in the deep, dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion. Hermione turned around to Harry with both her hands braced at her sides and her eyes blazing. She looked like Molly Weasley in preparing to give her men folk one of her famous dressing downs. "What have you done to him?" she demanded to know. "Did you get him drunk?"

"He isn't drunk! And I didn't do ..." Harry blushed, just remembering how hard he'd been against the old man. "We met on the Astronomy Tower and it was dark and I didn't see he was so groggy," he started to defend himself, sinking his head and awkwardly shuffling his feet.

"And you couldn't imagine that he, a man of 163 years, wouldn't be fit as a fiddle after such a long day?" Hermione said accusatory, bending over Albus and taking his spectacles up. "Did you have an argument with him?"

"Hmm," Harry nodded. "You know, I saw you leaving earlier on the ball, looking as you'd start to cry as soon as in private and ..."

"... you decided to fight my fights for me?" Hermione shouted.

"No, Hermione. It was my fight - as good as it yours!" Harry raised his head and looked her directly in the eyes. "I think I should leave now."

"Don't you dare, Harry Potter!" Here sae sat down on the bedside, pulling Albus' wand from his sleeve and laying it on the night stand. "First you'll help me to get my husband undressed. He can't sleep with shoes and in his dress robe!" She began to open the buttons on Albus robe.

"Hermione ..." Harouldouldn't resist a grin. "May I remind you you're a witch? So why don't you try some magic?"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Being out for a duck

With a forceful huff of his engines, their sound ringing loudly through the cold winter morning, the Hogwarts express left the station, letting a cloud of smoke behind him. Hermione waved the smoke away with her right hand on which the ring with the opal glimmered in the pale light and laid her left hand comfortingly on Harry' arm. "Hi...," she said, "don't look so sad! You'll see Ginny again in only a few days."

Harry sighed, looking longingly after the train which became smaller and smaller. "I couldn't say I'd love to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas," he grumbled.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You'd rather liked spending Christmas at your aunt's place then?" Pulling at his arm she started to walk over to the sleigh, waiting in front of the station.

Harry shuffled behind her, kicking a little stone by it. "You know, I wouldn't like being with my relatives. But why can't I go to the Burrows? Or, for not endangering the Weasleys, to Grimmauld Place?" He climbed next to Hermione in the sleigh and watched gloomily how the Thestrals, rather ugly creatures with skeleton bodies and leathern wings who pulled the sleigh, they sta to to trot up the hill to Hogwarts.

"You want to hang around at Grimmault's Place alone during Christmas?" Hermione shook her head. "Sounds like merry Christmas indeed."

"What's the difference if I hang around alone in the Gryffindor common room or if I hang around alone at Grimmault's Place?" Harry demanded to know.

"The difference, dear Harry, is simply that you don't have to hang around alone in the common room because you can always come and hang around at my place!" Hermione explained with the forced patience of a mother against her defiant toddler.

"I think your husband wouldn't like that much. He will want to talk to you in the next days ..." Harry said.

"Isn't it a nice coincidence? I'd like to talk with him too. Yet I don't think I'll need all Christmas holidays for doing so - though I have rather a lot to say," Hermione looked at Harry. "So I don't see why we couldn't spend some time together. Considered that we're to sit our NEWTs in only a few weeks, I rather think we should - or do you really believe you'll make it through potions and transfiguration without a bit of extra work?"

"Hermione, you're a slave driver!" Harry sighed. "These are our last school's holiday ever. You don't want to spend them full time with learning, do you?"

"Harry, I am thinking of our future! You'll need top marks for becoming an auror - and I'll need them for attending Oxford," Hermione said firmly.

"You will try Oxford?" Harry looked amazed. "Do you think you'll get a scholarship?"

Hermione blushed and looked up to the Main Tower where the white flag stood proudly against the grey sky. "I won't need a scholarship," she said quietly. "Albus will pay ..."

"Oh ..." Harry blushed too, then he quickly said: "I forgot. It's his duty as your husband, isn't it?"

"He seems to think so," Hermione answered.

Now it was Harry who looked to the flag on the tower. After a few seconds of silence he asked hesitantly: "How is he today? I mean the headmaster ..."

"I don't know," Hermione said, chewing on her under lip. "As I left this morning he was still asleep." She sighed. "I must admit: Yesterday at the ball - I could have killed him. But now ..." She didn't finish.

Once again Hermione and Harry were silent for a while, then Harry, fixing a point just over her left shoulder, said: "Hermione - did he ever tell you which house he was in as a student in Hogwarts?"

"No, he didn't," Hermione laid her head to the side and looked at Harry. "He told you this night?"

"Yes," Harry said, sounding as if he were to give his friend the shock of her life. "Yes," he repeated, "he did tell. And I think you ld kld know."

"That I'm married to a Slytherin?" Hermione wasn't shocked, but rather amused.

"You knew?" Harry starred at her as if she'd just developed tentacles.

"Until now I wasn't entirely sure," Hermione grinned. "But the look on your face was unmistakable."

"I've always thought he was a Gryffindor," Harry cried. "He pretended ..."

"No!" Hermione interrupted. "He never pretended."

"He always wears Gryffindor colours!" Harry maintained.

"Not true. To our wedding he wore his family's colours - blue and gold. Besides I remember him on a Yule ball in Slytherin green with silver," Hermione said.

"But you must admit: It's often - I'd even say mostly - that he wears red and gold!" Harry stood on his point.

Hermione turned her eyes. "You know, sometimes I understand why Professor Snape dislikes our 'Gryffindor stubbornness' as he names it. Did you never notice that red and gold isn't only Gryffindor, but Hogwarts colour? The Hogwarts express, the decoration of the staff room, the guest suites, the hospital wing, and the library - in all things which represent all Hogwarts you see purple and gold. And considered how much Albus is connected not to a single house, but to all of Hogwarts, I think he's got the right to show the colours of the school. Besides ...," she leaned a bit closer to Harry, "... I find this house rivalry rather silly. Slytherin isn't a training camp for baby death eaters and Gryffindor not the source of all what's good and bright in the magical world."

Harry wasn't so easy to give in. "You must admit: Slytherin produced a lot of death eaters," he said. "Slytherins are biased against muggle borns ..."

Again Hermione turned her eyes. "Of course, Harry. And especially Albus is. Therefore he made your mother and Agnetha Myer and I - all muggleborns - head girls."

"Probably," Harry sulked, "it wasn't him, but McGonagall and the other teachers over voted him and Snape."

"Oh Harry - give me a break!" The sleigh stood now in front of the castle, Hermione climbed out and said: "Do you really believe in Hogwarts a sparrow dares falling down from the roof without the headmaster's consent?" She waited until Harry had followed her into the great entrance hall and climbing up the stairs with him, she proceeded: "And for getting the subject cleared entirely: Could you perhaps, while I'll look after my husband, think about all the Gryffindors we had the pleasure to meet? I mean, you always seem to forget that Voldemort's right hand, Peter Pettigrew, was a Gryffindor and that Dolores Umbridge who obviously enjoyed hurting you and who would everything to earn power, was one. And what's about our dear minister of magic who provided us with the marriage law? And his assistant, our dear friend Percy Weasley, who denies his family for his career? Gryffindors, Harry - they're all Gryffindors! And now you go and think about that - and afterwards come to tell me if you really think I should be ashamed for being married to a Slytherin!" Without giving him a chance for an answer, she stormed up to the marble stair case over which she could arrive at the gallery under the Main Tower.

Harry's pigheadedness had her, so she thought, just provided with the right mood to hex all men walking on earth - and why shouldn't she spare just her husband to get a good, healthy dose of her mind? He certainly deserved it after the hide-and-seek-game he'd done with her over the last days and he deserved it even more for what he said to her at the ball. Until then she'd suffered by his attempts to avoid her and fought against with what Lavender and Parvati would have named the "weapons of a woman". It hadn't worked - and actually Hermione neither wondered nor suffered about. It had been worth a try - and if only to make her sure that she didn't like to show herself as something she actually never wanted to become: The sweet little woman who used her breasts instead of her brains. Albus' reaction on her dancing with Snape - and yes, she wouldn't deny that she'd tried to flirt with the potion master, knowing that he was probably the only other male in Hogwarts Albus took serious enough for seeing a potential rival in him - had showed her clearly how Albus felt about the "weapons of a woman" - and yes again: Although she'd felt insulted, she nevertheless rather liked that he obviously wasn't an admirer of coquettish little bitches. This suited her just right and therefore he was to get the real Hermione Granger-Dumbledore again - now!

And so Hermione stormed up the spiral staircase and marched straight into the bedroom. "Albus?" He wasn't there. On the blue quilt with which Woopy always covered the bed for the day, laid only an orange fur ball, yawning as Hermione approached. "Crookshanks," she took the tomcat and put him not too kindly down in the cradle at the foot of the bed. "You know, you're not allowed to lie on the quilt. You're always spreading your hair all over and I don't like it." She turned around, sighing. No sign of Albus - wand gone, spectacles not on the night stand anymore - this could only mean he was up and had showered, dressed and gone down - hopefully not in his office because Hermione really wasn't keen to get his nosy predecessors in their paintings as witnesses for the marital row she was to start. So down the stairs she went, now storming the dinning room, once again calling: "Albus?" He was there neither, so she ran down the next set of stairs, entering the drawing room.

"Al ..." She started and now she got an immediately answer.

"Yes, my dear?" Out of one of the chairs in front of a book shelf Albus rose up, this morning a picture in the colours of the night: A rather plain, but elegant midnight blue robe, the velvet of it soft shimmering like the nightly sky over Hogwarts, his beard and the hair the silver contrast to it as the moon made to the sky. Hermione studied him closely and registered that the few hours of sleep he'd got hadn't improved his appearance much. He still was very pale, the skin over his high cheekbones and at his temples looked translucent, the wrinkles on his forehead deeper as ever before, his lips were almost as white as the whiskers surrounding them and his eyes - Hermione had to swallow and all the rage d fed felt before was blown away by a wave of sadness, guilt and tenderness.

She suddenly remembered how she as a four year old girl in a temper tantrum had destroyed a beautiful Japanese vase her mother had always been proud of and Hermione had always loved as something especially precious. She'd felt like a monster then - and so it was now again. She couldn't shout at him as she'd planed. She only could run over to him and fall in his arms which he opened for her. Burying her face at his shoulder, breng dng deeply the unique fragrance which was so entirely him, she started to cry, hard, shuddering sobs. But in the same time she felt a tiny bit of happiness warming her. He was there and now he sat down, pulling her with him and seating her in his lap, holding her close, his mouth in her hair and his hands stroking soothingly over her back. It had to mean that he cared for her, didn't it? Nevertheless she couldn't stop crying - the tension of the last days had weighted hard on her and now, having found her way back to him finally, she needed a few moments of release. And Albus obviously didn't mind her sobbing all over his shoulder and even tears wetting his hair. He didn't try to get away from her - in the contrary: One of his hands now were on the back of her head, cradling it close to him and then she heard his voice and in the hoarseness she was in use with was a crack she hadn't heard before as he whispered: "Hermione - little lioness ..."

She raised her head looking at him and it was as if she'd been hit as she discoveree tee tears rolling down on his cheeks. "Albus ...," she said quietly, with the tip of her index finger stroking his face. "What have I done to you? I'm so sorry ..."

"Don't ...," he managed and caught her hand, turned it and kissed her palm. "Don't say you're sorry, Hermione. You didn't do anything wrong ..."

Now it was her who stretched and cradled his head on her chest, stroking and combing his hair with her fingers. "Albus," once again she almost whispered, "We hurt each other, didn't we?" He swallowed and she felt how he started to fumble in his robe. "What's the matter, Albus?" she asked.

He had found what he'd been searching for. Pulling out a pristine white handkerchief, he took his spectacles down, blew his nose, packed the handkerchief back in his pocket again, shove the spectacles back in their place and finally said: "Harry made me ..."

The same second Hermione had started too, saying: "I don't know ..."

Both noticed the other speaking, stopped and said in unison: "You first!"

Then both laughed nervously and Albus said: "It seems we agree not only about the fact that we have to talk, but even about that there's no better time as now. So: Ladies first ..."

"... In getting to hear the gentleman's say," Hermione smiled almost a bit shy and shifted in his lap. "Am I not too heavy? You know, I could seat down on the sofa."

He laid his finger over her mouth, silencing her so. "You're not too heavy and you shan't be seated on the sofa, but you shall try to hear me out." Clearing his throat, he proceeded, now very serious again: "I have to apologize for my behaviour against you. I've made - again as I regretfully must admit - a mistake I'm obviously very prone to: I oversaw that you're very young, but certainly not a child anymore. With doing so I drove the both of us in a situation we couldn't handle - or shall I say I couldn't? You certainly were coping better with it than I did. I needed Harry to get the message that I can't solve our problems without you. We're both a part of this - and it only can work when we work together." He looked at her as if he'd wait for something, so Hermione nodded.

"You're right, Albus," she said. "Only it was my mistake too. I should have talked to you sooner."

He sighed. "I didn't give you much of a chance, did I? And now ...," he paused and started anew. "Hermione, you deserve honesty: I still don't know how to handle this - our marriage, I mean. As it started you were a student in my care and it was clear that I'd do anything in my might to protect you. But now ...," he sunk his head and quietly he proceeded. "You're not a student in my care anymore. At least it doesn't feel like it anymore. You're Hermione - intelligent, talented, loyal, brave, caring Hermione and the emotions I have developed for you are more then the protectiveness and care every pupil at this school can get from me." He fell silent for a moment, searching for words and finally he said awkwardly: "I'm becoming pretty fond of you, Hermione."

Hermione laid her forehead against his cheek and smiled. "I'm fond of you too, Albus."

"Please, Hermione - I'm not ready yet. Let me say my say, will you?" Albus took her hand in his and looking at it, he said: "Being fond of you is something I can live with, especially in knowing that you didn't find my company unbearable. But there's something more, Hermione. I desire you."

"But ..." Hene hne had to close her eyes for a moment. She couldn't bear the look of self-repulse and guilt in his face. This was what she'd done to him. And to know that she hadn't done it only on purpose, but determined made her shudder now. Her eyes filled with tears again and slowly she said: "I behaved like a bitch, Albus. And I'm terribly sorry. It was ..." Now she couldn't find the right words. In his arms, knowing how miserable he'd felt by her passes at him, she couldn't understand herself anymore. "Rome," she said then. "Our night in Rome ..."

"Hermione ..."

This time she put her finger on his mouth. "Please, Albus - let me explain! It was all about Rome. In our first night there you made me feel like ...," she blushed, but bravely proceeded, "... if I were the goddess of love, Aphrodite herself. I've never before felt like that; I'd even never believed I could feel so. Suddenly I was a woman and a strong one and a desirable one and even the one who could make you, the great wizard, purr moa moan and pant. I don't know if you can imagine, but to me it was intoxicating, pure bliss and I felt as if I'd found the one thing I searched all my life for, the one emotion which would make me finally complete. I couldn't give this up easily afterwards. I tried to keep it, I tried to possess it, but by now I've understood: I can't try to possess you. You aren't mine and I don't have a right to demand more from you than you already gave me."

Once again he tried to say something, but once again she stopped him. "No, Albus, please - I'm still not ready. I will promise you, that I'll never again try to get more from you than you willingly offer on your own accord." Now she was ready and looked at him expectantly.

For a long moment silence hung over the rothenthen Albus finally spoke. "You have me at a loss for words, Hermione. I feel deeply honoured by your honesty - flattered - I'd even say flattered out of my trousers if I'd wear some ..." Now he smiled at least a little, but his eyes were still sad and grave. "I'd love so much to be the man to give you this onl only sometimes for a few hours, but for to keep and to possess. And for the first time in my life you make me wish for a charm that makes me young again - young enough to become the one and only one in your life. I'd love to live with you, I'd love to see you become the great woman you're supposed to be one day and I'd love to make you my personal Aphrodite. But I'm not the man you'll live with through your life. I'm only an episode on your way - some one who can at best give you a glimpse at your personal paradise, but doesn't hold the key for it."

Once again they were silent, but now Hermione played with his hair again. After a long while she said: "Actually I never thought I'd get a personal paradise once. Besides: A wise wizard told a friend of mine, it wouldn't do to dwell on dreams. So ..." She curled one strand of his silver mane around her finger, breathed deeply and said bravely then: "I'd settle for the glimpses if ...," shifting again, she started new: "Albus, I have to know something and you must promise me an honest answer - even if it is one I have to chew on."

He nodded. "I'll answer with all honesty you deserve - I promise."

Slowly Hermione rose up. She was afraid of his answer and knew: She wouldn't like to cope with it while seated on his lap. For asking this question she had already to fight down her pride. More damage to it she really wouldn't need. Turning her back to him and leaning at one of the book shelves, she finally asked: "Would it be easier for you if we'd do our ...," deep breath, "... sex more ... ah ... I mean, if we were to do it just to get over with it?" Being now more as only a bit nervous, she felt she started babbling, but couldn't stop herself. "You know, Albus - thousand of people do it in the dark and if you'd read the 'Advise on your sex life' part in 'Witch Weekly' you were to come across every week to witches complaining about their wizards rarely lasting longer then 30 seconds and if you would take a lust potion or do an arousing spell - I mean the ministry can't say anything against that, can they? So if it would make you ..."

"Stop, Hermione!" Albus said, raising his hands. "I suddenly would not feel better if I were to make love like that!" he said very firmly. "And I thought I'd make myself clear on this point in Rome. Even if I find it hard to cope with the fact that I'm to have sex with a woman as young as you - I certainly will not change the habits and beliefs of a lifetime for seeing love making as something to get done as quickly as possible."

Hermione hadn't turned around at his speech. Stroking a book's back, she chewed on her under lip. She was actually glad he had not taken up her offer with a casual or - what would have been the worst case - with a relieved "that's just how I'd like it". But remembering - and once again feeling miserable - how he'd looked at her as she'd approached the breakfast in Rome on the famous "morning after", she simply didn't understand his reaction. But she had to and therefore...

Bracing herself again with breathing deeply, she turned at last around to face him. "Albus," she started cautiously, "I'd very much like to understand you. In Rome - on the morning after we slept together ..." The memory was there now again in her head and relieving it again it didn't hurt less as on the first time. So she had to fight against tears and her knees becoming weak and sat down on the sofa, not looking at Albus, but in her lap. "You looked at me as if my presence would remind you of the most repulsive thing imaginable. You made me ashamed of what we've done - and perhaps it was thereafter I tried afterwards to seduce you again. I wanted to overwrite this look on your face with another ..."

"Hermione ..." Albus was on his feet and suddenly on his knees in front of her, taking her hand. "It wasn't you, Hermione!" he cried. She saw horror in his eyes and how hard he had to fight in calming himself down. His voice sounded crammed and flat as he finally managed to speak again: "I rep repulsed, Hermione, but neither on what we've done nor at you. It was me I detested at this moment and ever since - me, the lecherous old man who lusts for an 18 year old woman and who used every trick to present himself to her as something desirable. I was and I am repulsed by what I've became: a dirty old man."

"No, Albus, no!" Hermione laid her hands on his cheek and forced him to look up in her eyes. "I will not allow you to name my husband a 'lecherous, dirty old man'," she said firmly. "You couldn't even become one if you'd want to - not with a conscience as yours, so honourable and obviously sometimes overactive. You're simply not able to. Besides ...," with her left hand she stroke tenderly a strand of his hair, hanging in his face, away, "... I was already very indiscrete in my questions, so I don't think another one out of the 'things you should never ask your husband'-list won't make the damage finally unbearable." Her smile became almost mischievously. "Rosmerta Shacklebolt. Albus - you were involved with her be our our marriage, weren't you? And no, I won't ask you about the actual state of your relationship with her because this is no business of mine. So let's only talk about the time before ..."

Albus smiled - still a bit weary, but his eyes weren't sad anymore. "I'm afraid my ideas about marriage aren't quite so advanced as yours, my dear. I don't think that having a love life which wouldn't concern you would be appropriate. So to answer the question you didn't ask: The actual state of my relationship with Madame Shacklebolt is platonic. Yet I have to admit this wasn't always the case." He rose up to his full length, stretching his back. "Sorry - as much as you deserve to have me on my knees - I'm afraid they're too old for this." Seating back on the chair next to her, he took her hand in his and entwined their fingers.

Hermione gave his hand a quick squeeze, then she asked: "How old is Madame Shacklebolt, Albus?"

He looked a bit confused. "I don't know for sure. I never asked her ..."

"Did you ask her predecessor?" Hermione became almost amused now. She was sure, she was just in for getting Albus with sheer logic - and she loved it.

Albus obviously didn't see where she was to lead him. He considered this for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, actually I can't remember I've ever asked in the last 130 years."

Hermione had just waited for this. Beaming she cried: "Of course you didn't! There was no need because you were always sure your ladies were of legal age. And let me guess: The most of them were even pretty experienced women, weren't they?"

"Yes, I ..." He took his glasses down and massaged the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger. "Actually I've always had rather a thing with experienced women, even as a very young man." He raised a hand. "No offence meant, Hermione."

"None taken, dear Albus." Hermione smiled her sweetest smile. "Considered that you - to quote what you've just confessed - have had all your life a thing with experienced women - did it never occur to you in the last days that 'dirty old men' are defined by always lusting after young girls?"

"Actually ..." Albus started.

Hermione didn't let him talk. "Sorry, I'm not ready yet. I don't want to sound smug, dear Albus, but wouldn't it be possible that you don't desire girls in general, but a certain Hermione in special?"

For a moment he looked at her as if he couldn't believe she was real. Then he swallowed, shook once his head and stretched his hand over to her. "Hermione - come over!"

Hermione rose, but only to sit down on his lap again, laying her head on his shoulder. She felt light headed and almost dizzy now - he'd said he'd be fond of her! And he'd said it ... she liked how it had sounded - as if he actually would have wanted to say even more! And he wanted here and she was in his arms and everything was going to be good. And so with a contended sigh and a gentle "Dear Albus" she kissed his cheek and cuddled closer against him.

"My little lioness ..." Once again his lips were in her hair and she felt his warm breath on her scalp. "Thank you. What you've said means more to me than I can express. You're right, Hermione - you really are and you've just made me whole again."

For a long while they'd sat in silence, Hermione playing with his hair, Albus keeping entirely still. Then she felt him shifting and though she disliked giving up the closeness, asked: "Are you getting cramped? I'm too heavy ..."

"You are still not too heavy." He kissed her hair. "But I haven't had much of a breakfast and by now - as unromantic as it may sound - I'm starving. I feel like I could have one roasted hippogriff on toast. Besides I think we should present ourselves at lunch. Minerva always gets a bit sentimental over the first meal after the departure of the students while Severus always pretends he would like to celebrate. She falls every time for this bait of his and last year in summer she became so furious she hexed his soup to soap because - so she said - he'd needed to wash out that dirty mouth of his. He wasn't too delighted about that. He'd taken already a spoon full and I can assure you: Foaming Severus doesn't make for nice lunch company."

Hermione laughed and rose, pulling at his hand. "Considering that I have an appointment with your potion master after lunch, we should run. We're already in disagreement about an idea of mine - and the thought of what he'd say at my newest invention when just fed with soap by Minerva makes me shudder."

Walking down the stairs with her, still holding her hand, Albus smiled. "After battling with you he'll come to see me then, telling me once again, that you're the most pigheaded, unbearable person he ever had the misfortune to encounter ..."

"What? He complains about me being pigheaded?" Hermione was infuriated. "That's rich, coming just from him! I knew a few walls in Hogwarts which are more open-minded and flexible than he is!"

"Actually," Albus chuckled, "most of the Hogwarts walls are pretty flexible ..."

Hermione was still fuming. "Don't try to distract me, Albus! You know yourself, that Severus Snape is the master of stubbornness."

"It's funny - he says that about you too." Albus grinned. "And I must admit: I'm starting to enjoy that. Pot calling kettle ..."

"You don't maintain he's right, do you?" Hermione's eyes shot flashes at him.

"Will you make me sleep on the sofa tonight if I do?" Albus asked.

"Albus, I'm serious!" Hermione didn't want to be distracted.

"So am I, my dearest, so am I. But I'm only one old, tired wizard and therefore I won't step in on a battlefield between Severus and you." Albus looked and sounded very amused.

Hermione felt suddenly infected by his playful mood. Pushing her hand under his elbow, she looked up at him, batted her lids and purred in a tone Lavender and Parvati would have applauded at: "Oh my! And here was I, thinking you're a hero - my hero."

"You know the rule No.1 for heroes, Darling?" Albus took her hand in his. "It's 'Stay Alive'. And the second is: 'Never underestimate a female Gryffindor's capability to make you sleep on a sofa'."

Hermione shook her head. "You've mixed that up, Albus. The first is from 'Rules for Slytherin heroes' and the second from 'How to marry a Gryffindor and live to tell the tale'."

"Oh, that's already on the market? I thought Minerva and you would still work on it." Albus became serious again. "By talking about your work with Minerva: She asked me about your progress in transfiguration and she wasn't very pleased with me for 'neglecting' my duty as your teacher. So before she goes to advice you to make me sleep on the sofa, I'd like to offer you a lesson. Would you like to do a little animagnus training after your time with Severus?"

*****************

Cheerfully hopping along the hall which led to the gargoyle guarding over the entrance to the headmaster's office, Hermione felt in total agreement not only with herself, but with the world around her too. She wouldn't have thought it by getting up in the morning, she even had doubted the day to become a nice one as she'd seen off Ginny and Ron at the station, but this all had been before her talk with Albus. Since then she felt filled with joy and in such a good mood that not even one hour of arguing with Severus Snape had gotten under her skin. Just on the contrary: By defending her research idea against him, she'd got clear about what she actually wanted to do and in the end he'd even gave in to something she'd never thought she could get him to agree with. And even more: Although he'd probably rather swallow Neville Longbottom's pet toad and all their relatives wit mus mustard as to admit that he liked her idea - as she'd said that she'd ask the headmaster for getting the potion lab a muggle microscope, Snape had looked as if she'd just offered him the toads and told her with his best Slytherin sneer, that the founds for the portion lab's equipment surely weren't something he'd like to consider as "talked about in the headmaster's bed". Hermione hadn't managed to resist then. She'd just remember that he'd complained about her being "unbearable" - and this called for revenge. So with her sweetest smile she'd said: "You know, Severus ..." Hah, how much she'd enjoyed reminding him at this moment that he'd offered her the use of his given name in private! "... Albus is pretty fond of pillow talk. Especially ..."

It had worked beautifully! Severus had looked as if he'd just seen himself in his headmaster's bed, doing pillow-talk and obviously this image didn't appeal to him. Choking as if having the grand nephew of Longbottom's toad upside down in his throat he'd raised his hands and cried: "Have mercy with me, Mistress Granger! I really don't need to learn the gory details!"

This, Hermione thought, standing now in front of the gargoyle - and yes, it felt very nice that she didn't need a password to make it open the wall. Albus obviously had changed his wards to let her through - certainly counted for a victory in her ever-lasting battle of wits with the potion master. And thinking that he'd become a subject of pillow talk in the headmaster's bed would perhaps even stop him complaining about Hermione's naughtiness.

The wall was open now, Hermione stepped through and on the staircase which lifted her upwards to the office. In former times Hermione sometimes had thought the stairs would move too fast - and she remembered that Parvati (who'd been sent to the headmaster's office after she'd gone amiss for an entire night because she had a new lover) even had complained about feeling dizzy by arriving. Hermione didn't think so now - for her impatience the stairs weren't moving fast enough. So she jumped over the last half metre, marched straight to the little ante chamber to the door with the griffin handles and knocked, waiting for Albus' voice to answer. Yet he didn't answer with a "come in", but opened the door, standing in front of her. Hermione was surprised, but only for a moment. One step in, then she stretched on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder - and why, please, he had to be this tall? - for noticing that the office was empty except of Fawkes seating on his perch, holding an apple in his claw and nibbling graciously on it. So she allowed herself to do what she'd wished for all afternoon: She laid her arms around her husband's tall frame, leaned against him and kissed him tenderly. And Albus obviously liked to be greeted like that - keeping her close, he kissed back, both hands buried in her hair and holding her close.

"My, my ..." a voice broke in this kiss, making Hermione blush and hide her face on Albus' shoulder, "I'd never thought I'd live to see the day Dumbledore loses his crampiness with girls."

It was the portrait of former headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black who'd spoken - much to the dismay of his neighbour portraits which began shouting and talking back at once. An elder witch, carrying the thickest wand Hermione had even seen, swung it over her head as if she'd like to use it as a can on Black's back and screamed infuriated: "Get him round, Dumbledore! He deserves to watch the wall for at least one week!"

A wizard with fizzled grey hair - Hermione knew him as Albus predecessor and friend, Armando Dippet - smiled mildly: "A curtain for Phineas Nigellus will do, Albus. He'd one in my days ..."

Another witch, very tall and gaunt witch with a face as if she'd just smelled something rotten, said with emphasis: "The impertinence of this man! He probably even doesn't know how to spell the word 'discretion' ...," while her neighbour, a nice looking, round wizard folded his hands over his belly, twinkled at Hermione and said: "Black's only jealous because his head girl never jumped on him like that."

And over the choir sounded Headmistress Morgaine Lancaster's commanding voice: "Just kiss her again, Albus - don't mind Black!"

Hermione, her face still hidden in the folds of Albus' robe, thought she'd just like to sink in the floor, but Albus only laughed, waved his hand and commanded "nox". The office became dark, he took Hermione's hand, whispered: "Hush - let's go!" and lead her through the open door. Closing the door behind him quietly, he laughed: "This will give them something to speculate about."

"I'm sorry, Albus - I didn't think of them," Hermione said, still with red cheeks.

"No need to be sorry." Albus led her to the stairs. "They're bound to secrecy, so they won't tell. Nevertheless I didn't intend giving you the lesson in their company. You will need to concentrate and we'll need space, so I've prepared an unused classroom downstairs."

By walking down with him Hermione felt a bit odd. She'd searched the entire library for books about the animagnus transfiguration, but only founry ary academicals, dry excerpts about the law for animagni and about the risks when a transfiguration went wrong. There hadn't been a single book about how to learn becoming an animagnus. Even Albus' private library hadn't helped her and so she asked now: "Why couldn't I get a book about? I can't believe nobody has ever written about the animagnus training."

"You're of course right," Albus answered. "Many books were written about the subject, but after the ministry learned that these books helped the marauders to become unregistered animagni, they banned the books - not only from Hogwarts, but from all other libraries too. They're by now only available to transfiguration masters on special request."

"Banning a book - keeping knowledge exclusive - that's outrageous, Albus!" Hermione became infuriated.

"I didn't agree to this." His face became hard. "Sometimes I think my disagreement is Fudge's preferred reason for a decision by now. Yet he isn't the pope. He won't be the minister for ever and his successor won't be bond to Fudge's decision. He can easily set them back. So our world won't be stuck for ever with Fudge's rather odd ideas. Yet I must admit: In the case of the animagnus training the ministry has got a point. To start it without a master supervising is highly dangerous."

"But the marauders managed it. And obviously that terrible reporter - Rita Skeeter, if you remember - did too and she certainly isn't a very high talented witch." Hermione sounded defiant. She didn't like the idea that knowledge was kept out of her reach.

They had arrived in the basement of the castle, now Albus opened a door to a classroom, led Hermione in and closed the door then, setting a light ward on it. While Hermione looked around, he said: "I wouldn't bet on Rita Skeeter learning without a master's help. You know, Minerva and I aren't the only masters. I know four or five more alone in Great Britain. Perhaps one of them doesn't think much about the law of registration?"

Hermione wandered now through the classroom. It was almost empty - only a comfortable looking, high winged chair with a basket next to it and a white, thick mattress were in it. Hermione pointed to the basket. "Do you think I'm to become a boa constrictor who'd like to crawl in that?" she asked.

Albus sat down on the chair and pulled his wand out of his sleeve. Conjuring himself a little stool where he laid his legs on, he smiled and patted on the basket. "A Gryffindor becoming a snake would be a sensation, dear. The basket is for the clothes. Later you will learn to transform your clothes too, but for the start this would be an additional difficulty. Therefore you'd be naked first."

"Huuh!" Hermione made. "Now I'm glad you're my teacher. I don't think I'd like to be naked in front of Minerva."

Albus laughed. "She'd close her eyes. She demanded that from me too ..."

"You were the master who taught her? But how could you supervise her with closed eyes?" Hermione was already undressing, folding the robe she'd wore over her jeans neatly.

"Following the first rule for Slytherin heroes I never discussed that with her," Albus chuckled. "I closed my eyes until she was in trance and then ... she didn't notice then and I, of course, didn't comment on her body later. Although I remember ..."

He grinned and Hermione, just climbing out of her jeans, jabbed him lightly. "One more word Albus Dumbledore and I will tell her! And what's then with the first rule for Slytherin heroes?"

"Uuuh - I think I'd have to follow the fifth rule then: 'If chased by female Gryffindors - run for your life!" Albus lent back and played with his wand.

"Albus?" Hermione's voice sounded a bit muffled because she just had her shirt over her head. "Lavender Brown maintained once, that the animagnus form of a wizard is often connected to his astronomic sign. You know, I'm actually a fish ..."

"And I'm a scorpion." Albus shook his head. "Astronomic sigre nre nonsense. I don't think you'll become a fish - though I wouldn't mind to get a nice, little goldfish. I could conjure a bowl then and you could spend your days in my office ..."

"Heaven forbid! I'd hate to be a goldfish. I'd rather become a shark!" Hermione cried.

"That would mean a rather big bowl," Albus grinned.

"Albus, seriously: If I would become a fish, wouldn't it be dangerous in here? If I couldn't change back, I'd probably die for lack of oxygen." Hermione was naked now and slang her arms around her body.

"That's why I'm here," Albus answered calmly. "I'd get you a pond if you'd changed into a fish or I'd change the room if you're something too big like an elephant ..."

"But I'd hate to be an elephant!" Hermione cried. "Can you imagine something so absolutely useless? What could I do as an elephant?"

"You could make a lot of noise," Albus answered. "You know, my teacher was my father - and he always teased me that he'd wish me to become a tortoise because even I couldn't be frivolous or facetious then." He looked to Hermione, becoming once more serious. "Enough with the frivolities, young lady. Up on the mattress with you - we have work to do."

Hermione walked over to the mattress and sat down on it. "What am I to do?" she asked eagerly. She almost couldn't wait to start - she wanted so much to learn finally what her animagnus form was.

"Lie down and close your eyes," Albus ordered her. "I'll help you to clear your mind and to concentrate - and please, trust me: I'll use legilimens for setting your mind at rest, but I won't penetrate your memories or your subconscious. So don't fight me - it would drain you and you'll need your strength."

Hermione laid down as ordered, but couldn't resist a comment: "I didn't know a transfiguration master must be a legilimens too ..."

"Most aren't," Albus answered patiently. "Legilimency isn't required for teaching animagnus transfiguration, but it makes it easier - especially with a pupil so overactive and controlled as you."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I'll keep my mouth closed now."

misemise?" Albus sound teasing, before he became serious again. "Let's make one thing clear, Hermione: Transformation is a very complex process. Most wizards and witches need months to learn it. I'm convinced you will manage quicker, but today we can't expect more than a little glimpse. So don't be disappointed when I get you out of the trance and you still see yourself as a girl, will you?" Breathing deeply he rose his wand. "Legilimens," he said almost tenderly.

Hermione fought for a se aga against panic. The idea of having some one in her mind - and even if it was Albus - really didn't appeal to her. But then she felt something - something very gentle, warm and in a comforting way familiar. The something seemed to chuckle in her mind and then it became a bright light; pure an bea beautiful she wanted to fall into it. "Albus, is that you?" Had she whisperr onr only thought it? She didn't know, but it wasn't important, because she felt now how this light embraced her, her entire being with a warmth and love she'd never felt before. It was like being back in her mother's womb, entirely secure, protected and cared for, but it was even more because she was highly aware of the something her mind being male. And though this maleness didn't arouse her - it was erotic, the most erotic feeling she'd ever felt. Her body relaxed in this incredifeelfeeling and so did her mind. For this moment neither curiosity nor her thirst of knowledge seemed to exit, everything outside the brightness which was not only Albus, but a mixture from her and him and the love they shared, became irrelevant. She only wanted to stay in this, to enjoy it, to take it up entirely, but then she felt something like a push - nore ore than the gentle one a father would give his shy child on a playground for encouraging it to join the other children - and she heard his familiar chuckle and his always slightly hoarse voice in her head: "Let's go on ..."

Actually she didn't want to go, but something seemed to pull on her and for a moment it felt like falling, but then it was like walking down a narrow path on a meadow, surrounded by sounds and smells she'd never heard or smelt before. And then she saw a pond and the water in it lured her to it. It smelt fresh and sweet and austere in the same time and she knew that she'd found her element and glided in to the water. It supported her without her having to swim actively, it was like gliding over and in the water, feeling it like soft touches around her legs and thighs and her belly. Yet the water wasn't the only element she belonged to. She suddenly knew that the air would support her too and the wind, softly rippling water, was her friend. It helped her to lift off and made her hover over the pond, feeling free and strong. Although she'd been scared of heights all her life, although she hated to mount a broomstick - by now she knew that she could fly and so she did, lifting herself up over the pond and the trees surrounding it and by looking down she giggled - the meadow below really looked like something out of toy world and the tiny white cloud sailing just over her like something to chase and to hide in and to play with.

Ouch! There was sharp prickling on her left fore arm, as if the skin would split. Hermione fell out of the sky and found herself back in the classroom, hovering over the mattress and clutching her fore arm with her right hand. It still prickled and she felt something odd in her palm, like a little needle pinning through her skin.

"Finite incantatum," commanded Albus.

Hermione sank down on the mattress and felt for a moment a sad emptiness - Albus was gone from her mind. But then he was next to her, his hand on her shoulder and she saw him looking proud an excited at her.

"You are a quick study, love! I've never seen anybody going this far by the first time," he said and took her right hand gently. "Let me have a look at that ..." Looking closely through his spectacles on her left fore arm where a tiny grey thing seemed to stick, he smiled. "It seems that Fawkes will get another play mate soon, darling."

Hermionokedoked at the thing too. "You think this will become a feather?" she asked.

"I'm sure it will. I started so too," he answered.

Hermione looked once again and then she remembered the pond and the wind and it dawned on her. "Oh, Albus!" she cried. "I'm a duck!"


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: In for a duck, out for a ...

Hermione remembered well: Only a few days before she'd wished not only peace, but a hearty laugh to "all men of good will" and - being in an extraordinary kind mood then - she'd included potion master Severus Snape in her wish. But by now she was thinking of her father's trademark warning: "Be careful with what you wish. You may get it." And with that came a forceful need not to hex, but to throttle said potion master just for the fact, that he laughed. And how he laughed! His entire body was shaking with it, tears rolled down over his cheek, his pale face had become red and the sound of his deep laughter roared through the staff room and made the chandelier ring.

Yet the absolutely worse thing about the potion master's laughter was not that he laughed at Hermione's cost, but that this damned laughter was infectious! It made Harry chuckle - with a face even more purple than the potion master's because he actually knew that he shouldn't laugh on Hermione's account, it made Albus - and wasn't he actually a champion in keeping a straight face even under the oddest circumstances? - studying the hem of his sleeve as if he'd expect to find there Merlin's long lost invisibility spell and even worse: Hermione herself felt the corners of her mouth twitching although she still felt an urge to slap Snape, although she'd cried after the discovery of being a duck and although she'd provided Albus with a few haematoma on his shin bone by kicking him under the table for telling. Yet she simply couldn't resist joining the potion master in his laughter. Fair girl as she was, she had seen that the thought of her as a duck was quite funny and Merlin help: Although she'd wished for something more heroic or at least more useful - it had been fun to glide over the pond and to play with the cloud.

Besides: Albus hadn't spent almost one hour of comforting and calming her for nothing. He'd told her she couldn't be absolutely sure about being a duck because growing feathers and liking water could mean a lot of other animals - like great crested crebbes, gooses (she fiercely hoped she wouldn't become a goose in the end. Probably Severus Snape wouldn't make it in one piece through the laughter this would provoke him to) or gulls ("Albus - gulls don't paddle around on ponds!" - "Don't they? If I were a gull, I would!"). And he'd made her seen the advantages of being a duck too.

"First and best," he'd said, "a duck can fly. That comes in handy quite often".

Hermione still had sulked. "A duck can't fly as fast and good as a falcon."

"Yes, that's true, but as far as I know, ducks are better at long distances. They're crossing the Atlantic, don't they? Gyrfalcons don't go this far - even in very strong winters they rarely make it farer away from their native Nordic Islands as to Denmark or the north of Germany."

"I actually don't intend on flying over the Atlantic," Hermione had said. "If I ever want to visit America, I'd take a muggle aeroplane - surely it is much more comfortable than flying all the way as a duck."

"Then think of other advantages," Albus had tried again. "Ducks can swim."

"Great!" Hermione had made a face. "I hope you don't forget to tell the giant squib about me. I'd hate to become his dinner - even if he'd prepare me as duck a'l orange."

"As far as I know, he doesn't like ducks. Too much feathers, you know? They're probably not good for his digestion," Albus had answered thoughtfully.

"I don't want to be impolite against him or you, Albus, but I must admit that gaining knowledge about the giant squib's digestion never ranked high on my to-do-list," Hermione had answered sourly. "To think of myself as something a lot of people and animals could find delicious is one of the things I really dislike by becoming a duck."

On this place Albus had obviously decided to change his tactic from making her look at the bright side - which she couldn't find as bright as he did - to distraction. He'd taken her in his arms and nibbling on her ear, he'd whispered: "Would you mind too if I'd find you delicious in your human form?"

Although Hermione had seen through him, she hadn't mind. On the contrary - feeling his warmth against her still naked skin had reminded her of how his presence in her mind had felt and so she'd turned her face to find his mouth with lip lips. And in contrast to the kiss they'd shared earlier in his office, this hadn't been only tender and sweet. Hermione had seen to that in using her tongue - first for stroking over his lips, finding them a bit raw as if not kissed often enough. This, she'd thought, would have to be changed - and for convincing him about that, she'd once again used her fingers for stroking his head and while doing so deepened the kiss with her tongue meeting his and playing with it. He'd purred - as she'd expected him to - and pulled her closer and she'd reached under his outer robe to the silken under robe, feeling his heart beating under her palm and through the smooth fabric. His nipple pressed in her hand and her ministrations had become rewarded - he'd cupped her breast and breaking the kiss, had bent his head down and kissed her peek.

By then she'd discovered that she liked his long beard better than the short one she was use with. The short one was always a bit scraped, but the long, silver whiskers and the hair beneath felt like silk on her skin. And lying naked in his arms while he was dressed in his full headmaster attire - it had felt wildly arousing. She'd wished for more - and now! But as she'd let her hand wander down over his belly to his belt - and now, she didn't mind what he'd named his "pot belly", on the contrary: She'd like it as a part of him - he'd caught her hand with his left and used his right to lift her chin up to him so that she had to look in his eyes.

"Later, my Lioness, later," he'd said and to her disappointment he'd laid her down on the mattress, rose and pulled his robe back in form. Smiling and waving his wand he'd not only tidied up his hair, but made her clothes jump back on her body. "It seems that the Hogwarts meal times and our romantic moments aren't compatible yet. Perhaps we should work on that ..."

Hermione had been on her legs now too and - feeling still very excited - she'd caught him in an embrace, whispering: "Minerva's gone, so we could skip dinner, couldn't we?"

Albus had sighed, leaning his chin on her head. "Believe me: I'd love to, but - you don't think it would be a good day to make Harry, the two staying Ravenclaws, the little Hufflepuff and Severus eat without us? Tomorrow we can probably risk to skip a meal, because tomorrow Dee Sprout will be back from her visit at her in-laws though ..." He'd hesitated, taken his chin from her head and looked at her face again: "Would you mind much if I'd invite Dee and her husband to dinner tomorrow? We could have Harry and the three children too - Severus won't come because he's entertaining a guest of his own at his chambers, so ..."

Hermione had interrupted, just feeling a bit ashamed because she'd forgotten about Harry all afternoon. "Of course I wouldn't mind. But Albus - couldn't you invite the Weasleys too? In the moment it's only Molly, Arthur and Ginny at the Burrow. Ron's visiting Bill in Egypt, the twins are with Charlie in Romania and Percy ..." She'd fallen silent.

"Yes, I know - he's with his muggle born fiancé," Albus had said. "But inviting the Weasleys is a wonderful idea. Only ...," he'd chuckled, "... Marc will feel afterwards like a bath spoon again - totally wrung out."

"Marc?" Hermione had asked.

"Dee Sprout's enchanting husband," Albus had explained, taking her hand and leading her into the hall. "He's a muggle with a very nice farm in Sheffordshire - not far away from my place. I'll bring you there in the spring - it's a fine place, you'll like it. But back to Marc: Whenever he falls in Arthur's hand, he has to answer thousands of questions. Yet he does it with grace and the patience of a saint and last year he even thought of getting Arthur a wonderful gift for Christmas."

"Let me guess: A plug?" Hermione had laughed, knowing how much Arthur Weasley loved his collection of muggle plugs.

"Right you are. And it was a very special one. As far as I understood it is for connecting a computer to a thing which spreads ink around. I really can't think why the muggles want to connect such things - but Arthur was delighted."

They'd reached the staff room then were the table had been laid for the few inhabitants of the castle who stood over Christmas. Harry had already been there, seated next to a very shy first year Hufflepuff girl - orphaned only a few months before by losing her parents to a death eater attack and now a ward of her head of house, Dee Sprout. The little one had obviously been so overwhelmed by the presence of the boy-who-lived that she'd only looked to her empty dish as if she'd hope to find there a line to say. The appearance of two seventh years Ravenclaws - Harry's first crush Cho Chang and the spectacled self-made intellectual Ian McCarmody hadn't helped the little one much because Cho Chang who'd always thought of herself as the school's resident beauty queen had given her "I'm the coolest witch ever" performance again while her house mate obviously thought that dinner with the headmaster was his chance to show off. He'd immediately started to talk about how hard he worked on getting top marks in his NEWTs and that he'd just come across a "real interesting potion book" in the library and that he by now was knee deep in learning all about the usage of dragon blood in potions. "You don't know how interesting this is, Headmaster!" he'd cried.

Hermione had once again admired her husband's ability to look kind when bothered by a bore while Harry had turned his eyes as Severus Snape had swept in, all billowing black robes and the trademark sneer. To Hermione's amazement he'd given the Ravenclaw an entire minute of babbling - considered how quick he always had been in talking down younger Hermione Granger (who'd by now learned not to bother him with explaining things he knew already) almost an eternity. In every case it had been long enough to make Harry look at him as if he'd think about Snape replaced by a bad impostor. But then Severus had proven it was really and truly him - with a voice like velvet over steel (the steel of a potion master's blade, of course) he'd purred: "Your head of house will be proud to hear that you've managed to learn the first chapter of Heralda Fletcher's book about dragon blood by heart, Mister McCarmody. Only you shouldn't have skipped the foreword because there you could have learned that the invention of using dragon blood in potions making was done by an alchemist named Albus Dumbledore." And sounding almost sweet, he'd asked: "Does the name ring a bell with you, Mister McCarmody?"

The boy blushed and looked as if he'd like to sink through the floor and Hermione was sure that it didn't make him much better as he heard Albus saying: "Play nicely, Severus! I never can bring myself to reading forewords either - most of them are boring, aren't they?"

"Play nicely, Severus" had worked - for ten minutes. Then the meal had been served and Cho Chang - who hadn't been a favourite of Hermione even before she'd made Harry feel miserable in his fifth year - had made the mistake to ask Hermione in her sweetest tone what she'd done all afternoon. Giggling she'd add: "I was so amazed as I came in the library and didn't find you there over a book."

For a moment Hermione had fought against the urge to say - in the same saccharine tone: "I've snogged my husband in a classroom and if he weren't so bloody devoted to his duties we would now probably shag like bunnies in springtime." But to resuscitate half of the round and to obliviate the other half would only cost time and because Hermione still wanted to come to the bunny-part of the evening better sooner then later, she decided to do a little showing off herself in casually saying: "The headmaster and I worked on my animagnus training."

Cho Chang, always true to (bitch) form, immediately directed her - admittedly - beautiful dark eyes on Albus, provided him with her most admiring gaze and said: "Oh, really? I didn't know you were teaching transfiguration, Professor Dumbledore. Oh, I'd love to be taught by you!"

While Hermione thought: "Fat chance, sweetie! I'd throttle him first!" Albus obviously considered the second rule of his book: "If you want to stay alive, never flirt with a Ravenclaw while your Gryffindor wife is watching" and said amiably: "Professor McGonagall doesn't like me to dabble around in her department. I'm only allowed with my wife."

Yet Cho Chang wasn't so easy to stop. Still smiling, she asked: "But you're a legilimens and I've heard thy can recognize the animagnus form of a witch even before the witch herself knows about it. I'd love to learn about my form!"

Before Albus could answer, Severus stepped in. Smiling like the cat who'd just got canary a'l cream, he said: "I'm a legilimens too and in the contrast to our noble headmaster I'm a bad Slytherin who doesn't always asks for permission before entering a mind. So I alrealready tell you: You're a cow of the Friesian variety. Very useful because of giving a lot of fine milk."

Hermione almost choked on her peas, Harry looked as if he'd develop - for the very first time in the seven year he was in Hogwarts now - affection to the potion master, the first year Hufflepuff didn't understand what was going on; Ian McCarmody grinned; Cho Chang blushed and looked to the potion master as if she'd just wish for dropping some poison in his goblet and it was once again Albus who had to save the situation in smiling and saying: "Severus, you're frightening the children. Don't believe him, Miss Chang - even such a brilliant legilimens as our potion master he couldn't read your mind without you noticing his presence there. Besides it's simply not true that a legilimens can see the animagnus form before the wizard in question knows about. I'm even now not certain about Hermione's form though I were in her mind while she went through the first steps of the transformation."

By then Hermione had felt once again the wish to get him alone as soon as possible and therefore she'd probably not noticed how interested Severus looked as her.

"Wasn't it her second lesson today?" he'd asked then.

"Yes, it was," Albus had answered. "She's really the quickest learner I've ever had the honour to teach. She made it even to the first signs of the body change."

"Really? And?" Severus Snape was a curious person too. "What did you show, Mistress Granger?"

Hermione still hadn't been too comfortable with it; therefore her answer had been short and quietly: "The headmaster thinks it was feathers."

"You're to become a falcon too?" Harry had asked.

Hermione had blushed. "No, I don't think so."

And then Albus had made the bomb explode in saying: "Hermione thinks she'll become a duck."

At least: After almost two minutes of laughing like mad with Hermione, Harry and Albus finally laughing too, Severus wiped the tears from his face and said: "I'm sorry, Hermione - I didn't laugh at you as a duck. But I've just imagined the headmaster in a bath suit, wandering down to the lake with a duck under his arm. And ...," he burst out with laughter again, "... Colin Creevey taking photographs and selling them to the 'Daily Prophet'."

Albus obviously liked the idea. "Headline to that: 'Marital idyll of Hogwarts Headmaster'," he laughed. "Hermione, what do you think? Shall I get myself a bath suit?"

"Oh yes!" Hermione turned her eyes. "With gold and red polka dots! Pity I've already bought your Christmas gift. But perhaps Professor Snape would want to get you a bath suit?"

"So sorry, but I've just got another idea," Snape grinned. "Mister Potter - do you perhaps ...?"

To Hermione's delight Harry didn't sneer at Severus, but grinned back. "Too late too. Just this afternoon I've ordered my last Christmas gifts. And I'm convinced that I'm to fulfil another heart's desire of Professor Dumbledore."

For a moment Hermione felt sceptical - she hoped very much that Harry really had overcome his old grudge against Albus, but she still wasn't sure about it. And true - his smile looked a bit forced, but Hermione knew him well enough to see, that it was nevertheless genuine. She hadn't the slightest clue what he could have ordered for Albus, but for one thing she was sure: Eve it it were one of those ugly Quidditch team caps Ron and Harry were so fond of, Albus would love it. Getting back at least a bit of Harry's trust and affection was his heart's desire and a gift from Harry would make his Christmas a real feast. 

"Good morning, Hermione - and happy Christmas!" Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost, greeted friendly as Hermione hopped - humming cheerfully a Christmas tune - down the great marble stairs to the entrance hall.

Hermione smiled at him. "And a wonderful good morning and happy Christmas to you too, Sir Nicolas!"

The ghost who hung in midair over the great Christmas tree flied down until he was on Hermione's eye level. Bowing slightly he said: "I must say you're looking pretty this morning. Marriage becomes you, Hermione."

"Oh yes, it does," Hermione beamed. She felt like hugging the entire world and she wouldn't have mind including Sir Nicolas in that if only he'd have a body to hug. Studying his pale frame, she said: "But you're looking a bit sad, Sir Nicolas. Did Peeves bother you again?" As every one in the castle she know, that Sir Nicolas was one of the most favourite targets of Peeves, the nasty Hogwarts poltergeist who - without students in the castle - probably was bored and therefore after his fellow ghosts. "You know, you can go to the Headmaster when Peeves becomes too nasty again? He's in the moment still in bed, but I think in one hour he'll have breakfast in the staff room, and then you can talk with him."

"Thyou you very much, Hermione," Sir Nicolas bowed again, "but I won't bother the headmaster. He is a busy man and he deserves his Christmas break. And I've already spoken with the Bloody Baron. He's in the moment with Professor Snape, but afterwards he'll have a worth Pth Peeves." Sir Nicolas giggled. "He's to threaten Peeves with setting him up as the fox in the next headless hunt. I'm sure Peeves wouldn't like that."

Hermione almost felt sympathy with the poltergeist for that. In contrast to Sir Nicolas who was always kind, Slytherins house ghost, the Bloody Baron, was a force to reckon with - even if one was a poltergeist. Having been a powerful wizard once, the Bloody Baron still possessed enough magic to make after lives difficult to a fellow ghost - and he had been a Slytherin of the quick sort, which meant: He didn't think twice about casting a rather nasty jinxes. Besides he was able and - Hermione had no doubt about that - under certain circumstances more then only willing to curse living humans too. So only the fact that he was bound by an ancient oath to serve the headmaster and the heads of Slytherin which made his presence in the castle not a threat to the students.

Saying "farewell" to Sir Nicolas and stepping through the doors out in the cold, but clear winter morning, Hermione's curiosity was awaken. Sir Nicolas had mentioned the Bloody Baron was with Severus now? Hermione shuddered. She could think of nicer company for breakfast. Actually, after Albus had mentioned that Severus would entertain a guest, Hermione even hopehoped that the potion master would spend not only the evening, but breakfast in enjoyable company. The Bloody Baron certainly didn't count in that category.

Hermione was just around a corner and in the rose garden which she had to go through for reaching the green houses where she was appointed to meet Professor Sprout, as she heard a door, steps and voices. A woman said in tone which was obviously supposed to be seductive, but sounded a bit bored: "I could stay for a while, you know? It's entirely up to you, darling - and your pursue of course. But I'd make you a special prize - a stallion such as you deserves bulk."

Hermione blushed and backeay, ay, hiding herself behind the statue of a rather stupid looking Cupid. Although her curiosity wanted to know with who the lady - probably an employee of Hogsmeade's famous brothel, "The Saucy Sorcerer's Club" - was, she was pretty sure that the wizard in question wouldn't be keen to present his "guest" to just that of his students was was incidentally his superior's lawfully wedded wife too. Nevertheless Hermione couldn't resist running through the list of the men in residence. She couldn't image the "stallion" was of of the teachers. And certainly it couldn't be Hagrid because he lived not only in a cottage near the gates, but was married to the Beauxbaton's headmistress who was a half giantess. Hermione didn't want to know what the huge woman could do to a cheating husband, but she was sure: Hagrid didn't want to know either. So it had to be Filch, the caretaker - and although Hermione had never liked the ugly squib, she felt a pang of pity to him. How desperate had a man to be for buying himself the company of a prostitute?

Now the man who was with the prostitute answered - and Hermione almost fell in a rose bush as she recognized the familiar baritone of Severus Snape who said: "It's possible I'd like to see you again during the holidays, Shanda. I'll send you an owl then - as always."

"Well, well, Sweetheart - I hope I can make it then." Shanda sounded a bit offended. And now Hermione saw her, coming out of the shadows of the castle - and was entirely flabbergasted. She'd always thought that a woman in that profession would have to look a stunner, but this Shanda was far away from it. She rather reminded Hermione to a pathetic tarted-up version of Molly Weasley in a too tight, too bright orange robe which absolutely didn't suit her henna red, fizzy hair. And although her face was almost hidden under the entire make up she was wearing - Hermione could not only see that she was probably even older than the potion master and that her eyes looked sad and weary as if she'd lost every illusion years before. Nevertheless - the way she raised her hand and stroke with one finger over the potion master's cheek, saying "Take care, Honey" showed affection and an almost motherly tenderness. And Severus, now coming out of the door, followed by the Bloody Baron who glided just through the wall above, seemed to reciprocreate this affection. His smile was sad, but warm and in his voices neither malice nor venom as he said: "I'd like to see you to the gates, but ..."

"You really shouldn't leave the castle," finished Shanda the line. She smiled up to the ghost. "Don't worry about me, Severus. Lord William will look after me as chivalrous and charming as always." And with that she took her leave, walking down the path to the gates with the Bloody Baron hovering protectively over her.

Hermione who hadn't even knew the Bloody Baron possessed a name except "Bloody Baron" and who'd never heard some one addressing him other than as "your lordship" or "Baron" couldn't believe her eyes and ears. She just waited until she heard Severus going back into the castle and locking the door behind him, then she sat down on the bench next to the rose bush and shook her head.

She'd knew since a long time that Severus Snape was much more than a vile temper, a razor sharp tongue and a need to present himself as an utter bastard. She'd learned to admire his courage and to respect his loyalty to Albus. She'd even learned that his intelligence and power made him probably Hogwarts only wizard who was a match to the headmaster. And she'd come to enjoy his company in the last weeks. He was of course always trying, he never let slip an opportunity to provoke her, he obviously loved to make her furious - but Hermione had to admit that the verbal sparring with him was not only an irresistible challenge, but fun. To see him now with a prostitute - Hermione suddenly felt ashamed, but not for him, but for her and her friend and even her husband. What had they done to Severus Snape to make his life so entirely miserable that he had to search for a little warmth and comfort by a whore? And it was for warmth and comfort - about that Hermione was sure.

She'd grew from an inexperienced girl with only academic knowledge in matters of sexuality to a - no, not an experienced, but to a woman with some insights who'd been able to fight even Albus Dumbledore's personal demons. And by this she had learned, that "need" could mean much more than raw sexual desire that it was - especially with men so complex as her husband and his potion master - not a pure greed of the body, but a longing of the heart and soul also. And to know that Severus Snape couldn't get this need fulfilled, that he couldn't have more than a prostitute getting him something what couldn't be more than pure substitute for the real thing, made Hermione cry and wish, she could do something - anything - to help this man out of the hell he lived in. 

It seemed that Christmas as "Madame Dumbledore" was to become a series of more or less pleasant social gatherings, Hermione thought by brushing her teeth. The last evening - dinner with Harry, the Weasleys and the Sprouts - had to count as "more pleasant" while this evening, spent at what Minister Fudge liked to call "my humble home" had been not only boring, but almost embarrassingly so.

Hermione, once again feeling dressed up to the nines in a new silver dress robe (getting it from Albus this morning, she hadn't resisted asking if Hogwarts headmaster would get a special found for his wife's wardrobe) and on high heels (about them she'd have to talk with Ginny. Suffering for beauty was the one thing, but feeling as if getting smashed toes by it, the other) she'd got the pleasure to smile through an evening for which "abysmal" seemed to nice a description.

The dinner actually had been interesting - not so much for the food which Hermione found too heavy and too tasteless, but for the fact that she'd gotten not only Albus ("One can't separate such a newly wedded couple! It would be too cruel!" Madame Fudge had chirped in commenting the seating arrangement), but the French ambassador as her neighbour. And this Jean-Luc Gratacarp made for interesting company - not only because he was charming and well mannered, but because he liked to talk about Paris - a city Hermione knew and loved from visiting it a few times with her parents. She'd been fascinated to hear, that the French Ministry thought of Paris as the capital of the vampire population - only that they seemed to have vanished out of sight years before after a few misunderstandings between them and the magical folk. Yet Monsieur Gratacarp was convinced that the vampires still lived in Paris and by dessert Hermione and he discussed rather enthusiastically the possibilities of the vampires' whereabouts.

Until then Hermione had liked the evening, but after dinner it had become worse and worse. Madame Fudge was obviously a sticker to rules - old fashioned rules unfortunately - like her husband. So she'd sheep herded the ladies to one site of her over decorated, over heated drawing room, where they were to seat while - Madame Fudge said it giggling - the "men folk" was to discuss "boring politics" on the other site of the room. So Hermione wasn't only separated from her husband - by seating on a uncomfortable sofa she only got now and then a little glimpse of his straight back in a forest green robe - but it had became even worse because she had been fallen in the claws of one Madame Beatrix "You may call me Bixi and I'll call you 'Mione" Gratacarp, muggleborn English witch and, as Hermione had learned sooner than she'd liked to, second wife and former secretary of the French ambassador.

The longer the evening went, the lesser Hermione thought about said ambassador because she couldn't for the world understand why a man who obviously wasn't entirely thick could have married something like "Bixi". Alone this nickname! It reminded Hermione of a house elf and by all her sympathy for them - she'd never thought of house elves as icons of intellect. Besides she was sure: Even Dobby, Hogwarts free house elf, who always showed a rather particular taste in clothing, wouldn't have wore a dress so ghastly as the mixture of dusty curtain and flimsy nothing "Bixi" proudly named "the dernier cry de Paris". At least "Bixi" seemed to have no problem with Hermione being the wife of a man so old as Albus - she obviously thought Hermione a clever girl for catching Hogwarts headmaster and was "utterly delighted" to make her acquaintance because she'd found Albus - "You don't mind me addressing your husband by his given name, don't you? Or do you have a sweet nick name for him?" - Already in her school days "utterly delightful" and so "cute". Yet - and this was obviously meant to calm Hermione in case she'd became jealous - "Bixi" wouldn't make a pass on him, because she was so "utterly happy" with her "sweet Jean" who was "such a bunny and - huuh - French! You know what this means?" Hermione had already almost swallowed the silly umbrella on her drink by learning that Albus was "cute". To see the ambassador now as a French bunny - what ever this meant - made her shudder and she decided to make it to the further conversation under the preamble: "Ginny and I'll have so much fun when I'll tell her about that!"

Nevertheless it hadn't been easy to smile through the next hour because "Bixi's" favourite subject was sex - in all variations from muggle sex - Hermione who'd never slept with a muggle had first wondered about the difference between muggle and wizard sex, but then learned that muggles were to use "funny toys" like vibrators and hand cuffs all the time - over "wizard sex" - a subject "Bixi" unfortunately hadn't discussed in epic length, probably because she thought Hermione would already know everything about - to vampire sex in different numbers. One was sex between vampiresolloollowing "Bixi" a most passionate, fiery affair with so much magic involved that even muggles could feel it. It made - so "Bixi" said - sometimes even for earth quakes. Hermione had just wondered if this could mean that the vampires hide in Japan, but "Bixi" had already gone to the next section: 2.1 - sex between a witch and a vampire, another earth shaking event because the male vampires were so "utterly passionate" and - "Bixi" had whispered in Hermione's not so willing ear - "exceptional well equipped". Hermione had swallowed the question how "Bixi" could know about that - she really didn'tt mot more details. Besides she'd learned that there was a little problem with sex between witches and vampires: The witch, so "Bixi" had explained, was by it in danger to lose her magic because his was so much stronger. But - so at least "Bixi" thought - the talent of the vampires could make it worth to take this risk.

Section 2.2 meant a wizard shagging a female vampire - by that Hermione learned to advise her girlfriends to watch their wizards because if one had fallen in the hands of female vampire once he never could become satisfied again by a simply witch.

As Hermione was just about to learn about 3.1 - male vampire/female muggle - she was rescued by Albus who'd got himself rid of the minister, turned around and had noticed Hermione's begging look then. He'd came over, paid "Bixi" a compliment for her "really interesting dress" (Hermione once again found his talent for telling insulting truths with sound charming by it exceptional) and then apologized for "robbing you off my wife's company". But, as he'd said, he wanted to present Hermione to an old friend - the Italian ambassador. He fortunately wasn't married (or at least he wasn't accompanied by his wife) and he'd already heard about Albus' and Hermione's trip to Rome, so ttheythey had a nice subject to talk about. Nevertheless Hermione hadn't let Albus out of her grip. Clinging to him like for dear life though she cringed every time Madame Fudge passed them, chirping how "sweet" she found "young Madame Dumbledore's devotion to her ..." Interval for anybody to fill in "ancient" or "much too old" or "doddering" - "...husband", she'd managed to survive the rest of the evening. Yet she had been more then glad as Albus had asked her if they should leave. port key he'd prepared before they made back to their bedchamber at Hogwarts where they departed - Albus to the left side in his bathroom, Hermione to the right in hers.

Now she was ready and in her night shirt - not the teddy bear pyjamas anymore, but not the flimsy nothing either, but a sensible, long, white shirt. Walking on bare feet in the bedroom, she saw Albus just come out of his bathroom, wearing as always one of his long, pristine e nie nightshirts. He held a hair brush in his left and his wand in his right hand and smiled at her rather cheekily. "I'll call you Mione ...," he said in the saccharine tone of "Bixi". "Would you like t"

Hermione grinned. "Oh and how! I've always dreamed of being called 'Mione'. I only wonder ...," stepping next to him, she took the hairbrush out of his hand and pushed him to the bed, "... if Minerva and Severus would survive if I'd call you 'Albidoo' by breakfast - and I mean breakfast in the great hall with you on the head and me on the Gryffindor table."

He sat down on the bedside; Hermione climbed behind his back and started to brush the long, silver mane. "Brrr!" he made - a rumbling sound, deep from his throat. "I love it when you do that."

"I know," Hermione said smiling. "And you're rather cute when you purr ..."

"Cute?" Obviously he'd never before seen himself as something "cute".

"Cute!" Hermione repeated and for making her point entirely clear, spelled to him: "C-U-T-E. Bixi thinks so too."

"Does I being cute make up at least a bit for this ghastly evening?" Albus asked.

Hermione could hear genuine concern through his light tone. "It does." She bent over him and blew a kiss just on the cowlick over his forehead. Brushing again, she said: "Besides: I've learned a lot this evening."

"Oh, you did? What was it then?" he asked.

"Sex, Albus. I've learned almost all about sex - sex by muggles, sex by wizards, and sex by vampires. Do you want to hear more?"

"Who wouldn't?" Albus sounded a bit muffled because he'd bent his head for giving hesiersier access.

"Okay. Then let's start with muggles. They use toys - like vibrators - all the time," Hermione said cheerfully.

"Vibrators?" Albus obviously hadn't heard this word before.

"My, my, Albus!" Hermione giggled. "And here I was thinking I've got myself an experienced lover. Did you never sleep with a muggle, you biased Slytherin pureblood?"

"Actually I did. But if memory serves me right the ladies in question only used the toys I provided them with," he answered amused. "So, pray tell me - what's a vibrator?"

"Uff," Hermione made. "It's - as fare as I know from hear saying - a device in form of a penis or something like that which keeps batteries - electricity, you know? - in it which makes it vibrate."

"Ah." Albus turned his head and grinned. "That sounds like something Arthur would love to get. Shall we order him a vibrator for Christmas?"

"Do you want to spend a few weeks in hiding?" Hermione asked back. "With Molly after you?"

"Hiding with you I'd find very pleasant. Molly after me - no, I think I wouldn't like that."

Hermione was ready with brushing Albus' hair, now she ordered it and bound it to a ponytail. Pushing it aside, she kissed the back of his neck and said: "Ready, my dear."

"Thank you very much." Albus slipped in bed, holding the blanket invitingly open to her. "Will you come in my arm for telling me more about what you've learned?"

"With the greatest pleasure - or, as 'Bixi' would say: I'm utterly delighted. Really, this woman seems to have a smaller vocabulary than Filch's cat!" Hermione put the hairbrush on the night stand and lay down.

"Except when it comes to sex? She seemed rather to tell you a lot," Albus said and laid his arm around her shoulder.

"Oh yes!" Hermione put her head on its favourite place where his upper arm met his shoulder. "She told me all about vampire sex. Do you want to know?"

"Of course I do. As Minerva always says: One can never learn enough." Albus took his spectacles down and laid them on the night stand.

"Okay. For example: A wizard who'd slept with a female vampire never becomes satisfied again by a simple witch. I now wonder what happens to a wizard who sleeps with a male vampire ..."

"I'm shocked, Hermione," Albus laughed. "I was convinced I'm married to a walking library - and now I must learn that you've never read Gilderoy Lockhart's opus magnum "Vainglory with vampires". There you would have learned everything about wizards shagging male vampires."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. It seems I really have missed an epochal work." Hermione grinned. "I take it that you've read it? So would you care to enlighten me?"

"With pleasure." Albus stretched like a big cat and pulled Hermione a bit closer. "The most important thing in the book was that the vampires - all of them - have sworn chastity after the encounter with Lockhart. He was of course quite discrete, but it seems tcelecelebrated a kind of an orgy with him first and then ..."

"You mean, he was so lousy a lover?" Hermione giggled.

"Just on the contrary, my darling. He was so great they thought every other lover afterwards could only lead to disappointment," Albus explained, his eyes twinkling. "But tell me, dear - didn't you learn something about wizard sex too?"

"Unfortunately not too much," Hermione gave back. "Bixi probably thought I'd knew already everything - with having such a cute wizard as you as my husband. Or she isn't much interested in that." Turning around on her belly, she braced her head in her hand, looked him in the eyes and said: "Albus ... you promise, you won't laugh at me? I once really believed in wizard's sex as something very special." Albus grinned, but said nothing. Hermione pulled lightly on his beard. "Don't look so Slytherin or I won't tell you anything!"

"Wouldn't you burst then?" Albus grinned even more.

"Albus! One word more and ..." Hermione had to think about something to threat him with.

"... You will make me sleep on the sofa?" he offered.

"And freeze myself all night because you're not there to warm me? The devil I'll do. You stay where you are - but if you don't behave I'll use a tickling charm on you!" Hermione grinned. She always found it rather funny how ticklish he was.

"Please - have mercy! I promise I'll be a good boy," Albus cried, his eyes twinkling.

"Good. If you're a good boy, I'll tell you a bedtime story," Hermione kissed his chin - or better said: his beard.

"Oh - I love bedtime stories. Is it one about a wicked witch?" Albus asked.

"No. It's about a wicked wizard and a sweet, very nice witch," Hermione answered.

"Do I know the sweet, very nice witch?" Albus wanted to know.

"You do - but now be quiet and listen!" Hermione ordered and started: "Once upon a time there was a sweet, very nice, muggle born Gryffindor witch. She was a bit naive - probably because she was only 16 years old and rather inexperienced with wizards she she let herself in to date - twice or three times, but certainly not more - a wicked wizard from ...," she blushed and said, "No, don't mind the house. Its better you don't know. You're already smug enough in playing always the omniscient. Anyway: I met this boy and by the second or third date he tried to persuade me for shagging in the greenhouses. He kept telling me that he'd know all about wizard's sex and how great it would be and because I'm muggle born I couldn't even imagine to what highs of pleasure he could bring me with it ..."

"Tsss, tsss, tssss!" Albus made. "I'll have to talk with Severus about his pupils. We can't have Mister Zabini running around, telling the Slytherin secrets to muggle born Gryffindors."

"Albus!" Hermione shoer her head in wonderment. "How did you know it was Blaise Zabini?"

"Slytherin secret, sweetheart," Albus grinned. "One more of it ..."

"Of course!" Hermione turned her eyes. "And next thing you'll tell me is that there's really something special about wizard's sex - but probably only when done with at least one Slytherin involved."

Albus suddenly looked serious. "Actually, Hermione, there is something special. Isn't it always when magic is involved? I mean, it has nothing to do with Slytherins. It probably even works with only Gryffindors involved - at least I reckon so. I never asked Augustus or Minerva and I doubt they'd tell me, but ..."

Hermione, always thirsty for knowledge, became at once very interested. "What is it, Albus? A charm? A spell? Something connected to legilimency?"

"Hmm - none of this," Albus plaited his beard. "It's difficult to explain and I can't show you. Unfortunately we will never be able to do it because ...," he fell silent.

Hermione fidgeted in impatience. "Because of what? Please, Albus, tell me!"

Suddenly the twinkle in his eyes was back. "We can't do it because a duck is too big and too wet for a falcon, you know?"

"Oh, Albus Dumbledore!" Hermione cried and jumped on him, laughing and tickling him. "One day I'll get my revenge on you! Teasing me all the time! You're such an impossible, terrible Slytherin!"

With one quick move Albus had her in his arms, with a second he turned around, pinning her to the bed with his weight. Looking in her eyes he said: "Confess: You like Slytherins."

"Never!" Hermione tried to kiss him, but he turned his head.

"I'm a proud Slytherin. We're not in the habit of kissing women who don't like us," he teased her, keeping his chin up.

"Oh, don't you worry!" Hermione had managed to free one hand and used it now to pull his head down again. "You don't have to kiss me. I'll just kiss you."

For a few moments they kissed - a sweet and tender kiss, but as Hermione tried to make a bit more out of it, Albus broke it and turned back on his side of the bed.

Hermione swallowed - and cursed herself inwardly again. Hadn't she still learned her lesson? Albus had once told her, he couldn't use the potion more then twice a month - not if he wanted to avoid lasting damage. And by now she could have got the message he'd sent her more then once: Without the potion he didn't want to sleep with her. Period.

The only problem with accepting this decision of his was that she hated to accept without knowing the reason. In this special case: She was not sure if his refusal was based on not wanting to or not being able to. And she could hardly ask him, couldn't she? To tell her that his 163 year old body wasn't to cooperate with him on that would be embarrassing for him. And she'd sworn herself she'd let his dignity intact. So she would not ask and she would not allow her body to take over again. That she longed for his touch that she couldn't get enough of him - this was her problem to deal with. And she would deal with it and she wouldn't make him miserable again. So she turned around, snuggled to his side and said quietly: "I'm sorry, Albus."

"There's no need to be sorry, Hermione. You didn't do anything wrong." His voice was calm and sad. Breathing deeply, he raised his hand. "Nox!" he commanded. The candles vanished.

Hermione swallowed again. She could have kicked herself! Now she'd done it again - he was one distance and probably it would again need a few days until he let her close. "Good night, Albus," she said, fighting against tears.

"Good night, Hermione." Now at least he laid his arm once again around her shoulder and pulled her close.

A few minutes both were silent, their breathing the only sound in the dark. Then Albus said: "I am sorry, Hermione. I wish - I really do - I could serve you better ..."

Hermione shot almost around. Bracing herself with one hand against his chest, her other hand searched and found his face, stroking forehead and cheeks. "Albus, please - don't think like that! I hate the idea of you thinking that you would have to 'serve' me. It's not all about sex, it really isn't!" she almost cried. "You know I enjoy sleeping with you. You're a wonderful lover, the most tender and passionate and sensitive and experienced a woman could wish for. Yet the sex isn't what makes our marriage and my happiness about - and yes, Albus, you've made me a very happy woman. I enjoy talkwithwith you, I love it when you tease me, I feel warm and contend when you hold my hand, I was happy this afternoon as I read on the sofa with my head in your lap, I love it so very much to cuddle with you and I look forward all day for sleeping in your arms at night."

He didn't say anything, but his hands were in her hair now, stroking it tenderly - and this made her feel more secure and so she proceeded: "You know howhinkhink of sex with you? It's like the cherry on top of the pudding. And our marriage pudding is at least to me the most delicious pudding ever and I surely mustn't tell you that a pudding doesn't need to have a cherry on top for being just wonderful." She suddenly felt how he shook and trembled under her hands and something wet was on his cheek. "Albus - are you well?" she asked frightened - and then she heard him laugh so hard he almost chocked by it.

And he needed a few seconds before he managed to say: "Remind me tomorrow, Hermione: I'll have to tell the house elves never to serve pudding with a cherry on top when I'm eating at the head table. I don't think you'd like me to explain to a healer at St. Mungo's why I broke down in laughter over a simple dessert." 

The second time it was pleasant - and not only because Hermione was prepared, but because she awaited him eagerly. Hovering once again over the mattress in the empty classroom, she closed her eyes, listened how he softly cast his "legilimens" and then entered her mind. She almost giggled as she felt his presence again - bright and pure and warm and familiar. Yet this time he was in for a surprise, because Hermione had used the three days between her last sessions and now. She'd got herself a crash curse in occlumency - the art of closing the mind against intrusion. Only that she used it just the other way round: She didn't close her mind, but opened it to show Albus a few of her most precious memories.

Through their connection she felt how amazed he was to see himself, laying injured in their bed and becoming fed with rice-pudding; how he wondered as she sent him the picture of himself as she'd seen him at the ball, waltzing sweepingly with Dee Sprout and she knew, he didn't only see the image she sent him - Albus tenderly stroking Fawkes; Albus laughing with her; Albus seating on the bedside while she brushed his hair; Albus waking up, looking a bit dizzy, but smiling; Albus on his desk in the office, every iota the imposing headmaster and Albus how he'd kissed and stroked her last time in this classroom - but felt the emotions she connected with this pictures of him too. Her love, her pride on him, the tenderness, the admiration - everything was there too and she gave it to him without expecting anything in return.

But then something came back and suddenly she found herself in his memories and she saw herself: A bushy-haired 11 year old girl in a brand new Hogwarts robe, chewing nervously on her under lip while pulling the sorting hat over her head; the same girl beaming and running down to the Gryffindor table where she was greeted by her house mates. She saw herself during her second year, laying petrified in a bed in the informatory and it was night and he sat next to her and she felt how much he'd worried about her. Another image came up - Hermione, Ron and Harry coming back from a day in Hogsmeade, for once chattering and laughing and being careless teenagers. Hermione knew that they rarely had felt this way and she didn't have to wonder that in his memory this picture was connected with sadness and grieve. He knew how much and often they had been burdened with weights too heavy for their young shoulders and almost like a fire she felt now, how much he hated this war which had stolen them their careless youth.

More images, more feelings - she had never known he watched her so closely and was so aware of the role she played in the "golden trio". And then she saw herself how Minerva had led her to him for their binding and the image of her in his mind almost took her breath away. He'd seen her as a beauty and behind the tenderness and pureness which was him she felt somethinge - e - and it was like heat radiating from the passion in him. Another image - only a glimpse - made the picture complete: She saw herself as she'd laid in his arms last time in this class room, naked, her lips swollen from his kiss and she felt love and desire.

But then he closed his mind - slowly and soft, as he'd pull a curtain over it. His presence stayed - once again calm and leading her back in her mind and down the path to the meadow. And there was the pond again and she glided in it, relishing the cool water, again completely in her element and it made her almost forget why she'd been so eager to go into the pond. But now she remembered and bending down her head she looked to her image in the pond. First she only saw something grey - but then the picture became clearer: Gray, bigger then a duck, with much more imposing wings and a long, elegant neck, swinging up to her head in an elegant "S".  
With one cry she was out of her trance. "Albus! Albus! I'm not a duck. I am a swan."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Taking flight

Still panting as if she'd done a marathon, Hermione heard how Albus finished the levitation charm, letting her gently down on the mattress where she fidgeted in joy.

"I'm so glad!" she cried in excitement and stretched her arms - only becoming worried: This time she hadn't got any feathers! "Albus - why haven't I got feathers?" she asked fearfully. "Did I fall back in development?"

"No, I don't think so." He rose from the chair and came to the mattress, seating himself down next to her. Offering her an arm to lie in, he explained: "Most animagni learns about their form growing in. Yet - as you've learned last time - this can be a bit hurtful because the mind can't support the body by it. But as soon as the mind knows, the actual change becomes much easier. Then it is mostly a question of training and concentration."

"Does this mean, I'm now to change completely soon?" Hermione asked and cuddled closer to him.

"Yes, I think so. You're ready for it - and quicker than any other student I've ever taught. Minerva probably will become envious - she needed six lessons until she developed her nice tabby fur." Albus looked down on Hermione and kissed her forehead. "A swan - pity, isn't it? I was so looking forward to getting a duck soon. I've already ordered oranges ..."

"Albus!" Hermione used her elbow for a kick in his ribs. "Aren't you ashamed of teasing a poor almost duck?"

"No for I am a Slytherin. We're never ashamed." He pulled her closer, laying his robe - blue on this afternoon - around her. "By the way: Your idea to look on your image in the water was brilliant."

"Thank you," Hermione smiled up to him. "I'm only a bit confused. Did you see the image too? I was grey - and I've never seen a grey swan before."

"Then you've never seen a swan chicken, darling Hermione," Albus said. "You're very young and so is your animagnus form."

Hermione chewed on her under lip. "But ...," she said thoughtfully, "... I'd love to know what kind of a swan I am. Being a grey chicken could mean I'm to become a swan of the white or the black variety - or couldn't it?"

"No," Albus said cheerfully. "I don't like black and you're not supposed to become the wicked wizard's daughter."

"Hmm?" Hermione made irritated.

"Swans' sea - a ballet by Piotr Illjitsch Tchaikovsky. I'll try to get us tickets soon. Then you'll learn the tale of the white and the black swan," Albus explained.

"You really wouldn't like if I were a black swan?" Hermione was a bit disappointed. She actually had liked the thought.

"I would like you even if you were to become a chicken. So I wouldn't mind if you were a black swan, only I know: The chances of you to become one are pretty small. Or do you have a few Aborigines in your pedigree?" Albus looked amused.

"Australian natives? I know they've got strong magic, but no - I don't think I'm related to them," Hermione said. "How would this be connected to me being a black swan?"

Albus obviously became a bit cramped by seating on the mattress. So he put his boots off, swung his long legs up and stretched next to Hermione. "A wizard's animagnus form," he explained then, "is always connected to his descent. That means that somebody whose ancestors were mostly North Europeans won't become something exotic like a lion or a baboon. And Miss Chang - being from Asian descent - surely won't become a cow of the Friesian variety. She'd perhaps become one of an Asian variety, but never a Friesian. In my case with ancestors from Iceland this rule meant the gyrfalcon. For Minerva who's born as a Stuart and part of an ancient Scottish family it meant a tabby cat - an animal at home in Scotland too. And in your case it's the white swan - Cygnus olor, for being precise. It's the only variety native in North Europe."

"Cygnus olor," Hermione repeated. "I didn't know you're so good in biology too ..."

"In fact: I'm not. I looked that up only yesterday," Albus gave back and crossed his legs comfortably. "And so I can tell you even more about Cygnus olor - really fascinating birds indeed. They can't dive - other than ducks. They can't sing - contraire to popular belief. They've only got some hiss and squeak sounds. But they're very strong flyers and even stronger fighters. They use their wings for fighting and it's known that they're able to break a man's bone with it. Besides they're very faithful and loyal to their partners. So I think being a swan suits you handsomely."

"Albus ..." Hermione laid on her belly with her head braced in her hand and looked down on him. "Why did you look up swans? Did you know I was to become one?" Her voice was soft, but her eyes glittered.

"I didn't know. But ...," he grinned, "I reckoned."

"You reckoned? And you let me believe I was to become a duck?" She spoke slowly. "You even told Severus so ..."

Albus tried to look innocent. "I thought the boy could do with a good laugh ..."

"Oh, Albus Dumbledore!" Hermione was over him again. "You don't know how much I look forward to my transfiguration! I'll show you then that a swan can indeed break a man's bones!"

"Huh!" In a whirl of fabric Albus rolled away from her, down from the mattress on the floor. Only his wizard's hat lay next to Hermione. "I see: You not being a duck makes for me doing the diving duck now."

"Coward!" Hermione laughed and took his hat, putting it on her head. It was much too big for her and almost fell over her eyes. "Don't you want your hat? Your cunning Slytherin brain will cool off without it."

"Thanks for your concern, sweetest wife, but my rather brilliant Slytherin brain is warmed nicely by my glorious hair," he gave back, sounding a bit muffled by it.

Hermione couldn't from her position see more from him than a blue clothed shoulder, so she asked: "What are youdoing down there?"

"My marital duty!" Albus chuckled. "I kiss the floor my wife's lily white feet were walking on."

"Oh sweet Merlin!" Hermione laughed. "I've always knew Slytherins are kinky, but I didn't know it's so bad!"

"That's what makes us so irresistible and dead sexy," Albus gave back.

Hermione suddenly noticed that his voice sounded less hoarse - and even before her mind got the meaning of it, she felt a fluttering in her stomach and her heart jumped in joy. Nevertheless - she didn't think he should get away easily. Crawling quietly to the other side of the mattress, she rose up and said: "Dead sexy? You'd need your hat for that, but unfortunately I have it - and I won't give it back to you."

He jumped on his feet - and Hermione's heart made a jump again. She'd been right - he'd taken the potion while hiding from her. And now he was back in his young glory and with his auburn hair falling in his forehead and beaming azure blue eyes looking even more handsome than she'd remembered him. "As an obedient wife you will give me back my hat," he said and jumped over the mattress.

Hermione was quicker. Casually walking back two steps, she pushed the hat aside a bit and grinned at him. "Your hat suits me better than you. Don't you think I look great with it? I think I'll keep it."

"You think!" He was on his knees, stretching his long arms to get her.

Once again Hermione backed away. She sticked her tongue out at him: "Bah! You're a bit too slow, Albus."

"My dear lady, you're living dangerously!" He grinned - and with a predatory jump he almost got her.

This time Hermione had to run to get away, but she managed and laughed. "Chasing a naked student through a classroom - my, my, Headmaster, you are a kinky Slytherin!"

"You'll learn soon how kinky!" Albus looked at her as if he was thinking over his next move.

"Catch me if you can!" Hermione waved his hat and seeing that he was to jump again, started to run - for suddenly hearing a soft "immobilize!" The spell got her immediately - soft, but firm it kept her in just the position she had been in.

"Albus - you killjoy!" she protested. "Using magic is unfair!"

"I'm a Slytherin - what did you expect?" She heard him chuckling behind her back. "Mobilicorpus!" was his next command.

Hermione felt herself hovering in midair and drifting to the mattress. As she was over the middle of it, he said almost lazily: "Finite incantatum." Hermione tumbled on the mattress and before she managed to move, he was already over her, taking his hat from her head and putting it back to his. "So much for that," he said grinning and bent down to place a kiss on her already erect nipple. "And now to the lesson 'why one shouldn't waste energy in running away from a wizard." With that, he placed his mouth on hers and kissed her - passionately and demanding, taking her breath away and making her once again feel as if she were to become a puddle in his arms. Raising his head then and grinning, while he massaged her breast, he asked in a tone like the one Severus would use with an especially thick student: "And now tell me: Why don't we waste energy?"

Hermione had to moan first. His hand on her breast worked wonders, sending shivers down her spine and setting her body on fire. Panting, she said: "Because I'll need all my energy for shagging with my teacher?"

"Five points to Gryffindor." He bent his head to her breast again, nibbling and sucking.

For a little moment Hermione was distracted. She knew, that the hour glasses in the entrance hall which showed the points for the four houses were so enchanted that they reacted every time a teacher told a student "...points to..." or "... points from ..." a certain house. Now Albus wasn't a regular teacher anymore, but in her seven years at Hogwarts Hermione had seen more then once that he deputized for other teachers - mostly Minerva or Severus - and she remembered even a potion lesson from him where she'd got 10 points for Gryffindor. And she remembered that he'd more then once awarded points as headmaster. So she couldn't help wondering if the Gryffindor glass in the hall had just been given five points to Gryffindor - and the idea of Harry, the only Gryffindor except her in the school at the moment, asking how she got the five points, made her giggle - but only for a second, because then Albus' lips were on her nipple and what they did to her became much more important than house points and Harry and everything outside this classroom.

This mouth made her needy and greedy and she felt how wet she already was and as wonderful as it was to feel him sucking on her nipple, she wanted at least his fingers more in the south. So she arched her back to get his attention to the dripping heath building between her legs. He didn't react to it. He still used his left hand for bracing himself over her while his right roamed over her ribs, tickling and stroking.

Hermione decided to change her tactic. Albus was still fully dressed - actually, she thought, he was more then fully, but simply over dressed with a floating velvet robe over a long, heavy silken shirt with high collar. So she started to push the robe over his shoulders and he let her, he even helped with shoving it away completely. The robe fell half over Hermione, the dark blue of the velvet a stark contrast against her creamy skin, the fabric still warm from his body, sending shivers all over her. It felt as if he'd touch her. But the robe wasn't enough. She wanted him to cover and to touch her and she wanted to feel his skin and to stroke the solid proof of his desire. So she let her hand glide down over his chest to the leather belt which sat quite loosely - with the change he'd once again lost his round belly - on his hips. She could already sense the heath of his erection under the fabric and she longed to touch it, but once again he caught her hand.

"No," he said cheerfully, smiling cheeky at her. "You've just reminded me of an old fantasy of mine." He turned around and waved his wand. The mattress glided next to the wall, his chair disappeared and with a "clunk" the classroom's usual furniture - chalkboard, bookshelf, teacher's desk, a wooden chair behind, student's desks and wooden benches - was back again.

Hermione swallowed. Of course - the idea of sharing - or even acting out - one of his sexual fantasies actually was arousing. Yet to think of him harbouring dreams about having sex with a student in a classroom she found disturbing. It reminded her suddenly of Snape in "The Saucy Sorcerer's Club" and she found herself thinking, that Albus had perhaps been a guest there too - and probably he was more Slytherin than she'd like to think of? She wasn't sure she would like that and started to consider how she could tell him without insulting as he kissed her breast again and chuckled.

"I'm going to prove myself as a debauched Slytherin, I think, but it was in this very classroom - in former times the arithmancy classroom - where I got my first real erection. And if I remember right - it was in the winter of my third year, so we're around for the 150. Jubilee by now. What do you think? Does this make for a celebration?"

Hermione was so relieved she almost cried. But being curious too, she decided rather to ask him: "Do you remember what caused this erection?"

"But of course I do - it's a pretty vivid memory. It was assistant instructor O'Donnell. She was a very pretty young lady and I've had alrefor for a long time had a crush on her. On this certain afternoon she taught us some basics I knew already. So I became bored and watched her." He pointed to the teacher's desk with a smile. "She sat on the desk. At this time women wore mostly heavy, long robes - one got hardly to see more than a glimpse of their ankles. Yet Miss O'Donnell's robe had a slit and from my position I could see a bit of her leg and even her knee whenever she moved. And I started to dream about being alone with her and kneeling down in front of the desk, pushing her robe away and pleasing her with my mouth ..."

While he'd spoken, Hermione had risen, taken his robe, slipped in and marched to the desk. Seating herself on its edge, she looked provoking at him, moving one leg out of the robe. "Let's celebrate then," she purred.

He was quick as a flash - up from the mattress, he came over to the desk and kneeled down in front of her, taking her naked feet in his hand and kissing her toes. And then his lips glided over her shine bone to her knee while his hands parted her legs, exposing her dripping centre to him.

Hermione lay back on the desk, braced on her elbows, looking down to the head between her thighs. In the soft light of the candles his hair shimmered like gold, red and rich in colour. And for a moment she meant to see the boy he was been once, but then his beard tickled on her skin and she wasn't interested in the boy anymore, but in Albus, her strong, beautiful, gentle, passionate lover. She knew he looked at her now and she couldn't resist asking: "Like what you see?"

"It's like an exotic flower ...," his voice was thick with lust as he bent over her. She felt his breath on her and it made her trembling in anticipation. "I know it tastes delicious ..."

And then his mouth was on her it was even better than she remembered. He teased and sucked and kissed and let his tongue stroke her and just in the moment as she thought she couldn't bear the emptiness in her any longer, a tender finger entered her, finding again just this spot, this very special spot which made the pleasure explode in thousands of tiny, red and golden sparks and she heard herselreamream: "Oh heavens - Albus! Albus, I m coming!"

She fell back, her head hit the desk, but she didn't feel it. She only felt waves of lust and pleasure run through herself and then suddenly everything became black and she struggled for breath, she heard fabric becoming torn apart and then he was up, the silken robe open now, his chest exposed and shining with sweat and he gripped her hips and entered her with one forceful stroke and she couldn't breath again, but had to scream because a new wave of pleasure hit her. "Albus, Albus - yes, yes! Fuck me!"

"Hermione ..." He didn't scream. His voice was almost inaudible, a soft murmur only, but she thought she'd feel it in her mind too. "You're so incredible, so absolutely perfect, so beautiful, so lovely ...," he'd accompanied every word of praise with a little movement of his hips and now his rhythm became quicker and the words tumbled, quicker and quicker, "... so enchanting, so arousing and ...," a forceful stroke, "... you're mine!"  
"Yes! I'm yours - entirely yours, Albus!" Hermione slung her legs around him getting closer and gripped his arms. She felt his muscles under the smooth, sweaty skin and for a moment wished this moment would last forever, but then her next climax hit her and with it all thinking ended once again. 

"The red hat with the fur would do nicely!" the mirror said and as always, when giving advice, sounded quite smug. Albus, standing in front of the mirror, keeping his long beard away with the left hand and closing the button on his collar with the right, gave the mirror a short look. "I won't wear a hat this evening," he told. "We're not in for formality, but with friends." Now the button was closed and the beard back in place, so Albus could once again look at the glass. Half one hour ago as he'd entered the bathroom for a shower, he'd seen his younger face there, but now the wrinkles and the silver hair was back - only that he couldn't see it clearly because his sight was blurry. Opening the door to the bedroom he waved his wand: "Accio spectacles!" The half-moon spectacles came through the room; he caught them with one hand and put them on his nose. "That's better," he said and smiled and Hermione, who'd just come out of her bathroom, wearing black trousers and a black sweater.

"You don't mind if I wear muggle clothing tonight?" she asked.

"No, it's fine with me. Only ...," he mustered a bit sceptical, "... you look like Severus in civvies. I mean ...," there was his cheeky grin again; "... you don't have a reason to mourn for your love life just in the moment, do you?"

Hermione shook her head and took the red shawl which she had laid before on the bed. Decorating it over her shoulder, she smiled to her husband. "Better?"

"Yes, much better." Pulling out his wizard's watch with the twelve fingers, he took a look at it, and then sighed. "We should be going, Darling." But he didn't march to the door, instead he opened his arms: "Come here, Hermione, will you?"

Hermione was with two steps in his arms, hugging him. "Huuh," she said by it. "You're once again all robes!"

"And hair, I know ..."

Hermione stretched and laid her hands on his shoulders. Placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, she said: "I like your hair and ...," she kissed his mouth, "... your beard. It tickles nicely."

"That's good to know. I wouldn't like to shave." Albus pulled her closer and for a moment both became still. Then he sighed again. "You know, I'd rather spend this evening in your company here?"

"Yes, I do - and I'd love to be with you too, but we can't leave Harry alone. I don't think he'd enjoy Christmas' eve with Cho Chang. He looks forward to Christmas at the Burrows ..." Hermione raised her head and looked in his eyes. "Albus - I worry a bit. Do you really think it's secure? I mean, you're a target for death eaters, Harry and Severus are too. Won't we endanger the Weasleys?"

"I don't think so. In the moment the death eaters won't strike without an explicit order from Riddle - and he was quiet for weeks now." Albus kissed her forehead and looked once again at his watch. "We really must go. Severus and Harry will probably already be waiting. I asked them to meet us in the entrance hall."

"Then we should hurry - I don't think letting the both wait together would get them in the right mood for Christmas," Hermione looked to the pile of packed Christmas gifts on the table in front of the fire place. "We'll need a bag ...," she said.

Albus laughed. "You're a lucky one. You're married to a wizard ..." Waving his finger, he shrunk the package until the entire pile was the size of a matchbox. He picked it up, put it in his pocket and took her hand in his. "So - now we really should hurry ..."

By walking down the stairs and into the gallery, Hermione came back to the subject of security. She really hated the idea of endangering the Weasleys and she still couldn't get the picture of the injured falcon out of her mind. So she said: "Albus, I really don't want to bother you and you know, I trust you and your judgment, but - what makes you so sure about the death eaters not attacking us today? I mean, if I were Voldemort, I'd make my men watch the Burrow, knowing that Harry is close to the Weasleys. But now it's not only Harry, who will appear there, but Severus and you too. I'd strike ..."

"I wouldn't," Albus said calm. "At least not unprepared. Harry, Arthur, Molly, Severus, you, I and even little Virginia Weasley are forces to reckon with. Riddle knows we'd sell our lives very expansive - and he's able to count. So he knows too, that we'd probably made it long enough even against all his death eaters to get the aurors down at the Burrows. For getting us Riddle would need a plan - and I may even say a pretty good one."

"But how do you know, he doesn't have one?" Hermione asked. "You don't have a spy in his camp anymore."

"I think I'm to get one again pretty soon. Until then I have a few other sources and the advantage - provided by no other then Mister Riddle himself - always to know when I have to use them." He laughed and squeezed her hand. "Coming to that: I'm very glad you're not the enemy. You are cleverer then him."

"Am I? How so?" Hermione demanded to know.

"You remember the fake galleons you made for informing the members of the defence group about meetings?" Albus asked. "You told me, you became inspired to invent them by the dark mark Voldemort calls his followers with. Only you improved it. You were able to make your coins work selective, so you could call the members of the group individually. Riddle didn't think of that. He's only able to use the dark marks for calling all his death eaters at once. And this means ...," he looked to her with one raised eyebrow.

"That he can't call his death eaters without calling Severus too," Hermione cried. "So the two of you always know when Voldemort and his men are active even if Severus doesn't follow the call. But ...," she chewed on her under lip. "Doesn't the mark hurt? I've heard that the call would hurt like hell and the pain would only stop when the bearer of the mark does as he's ordered. How can Severus stand that?"

"Luckily he doesn't have to," Albus answered with a grim smile. "Riddle always falls over his hubris - and so he did in this case too. As Severus came back to him three years ago he managed to convince Voldemort he'd be of more use when working as Voldemort's spy in Hogwarts. As such he'd have to avoid making me suspicious which meant: He couldn't have the mark hurting by a call too much - first because he could have been in a situation where he could hardly follow it, like seating in a meeting with me. And second: Even one grip at his fore arm - and who could avoid it when hit by a sudden pain? - could have made me suspicious. Voldemort knew that I knew about the mark and how it works. So it was - seen from Voldemort's perspective - even risky enough Severus wearing it. So he promised Severus he would deactivate the burning of his mark whenever he thought Severus couldn't follow it."

"But by now he wouldn't do that anymore, would he?" Hermione didn't like the thought of the potion master suffering.

"Of course he wouldn't," Albus answered. "But he did once - and this was enough. Severus and I were prepared. We tracked down the spell and found its origin. It needed a bit work, but in the end we were able to reproduce it and with that the problem was solved. Whenever Severus feels his mark burning now, he comes to me and I cast the spell ..."

"But when you're not available?" Hermione asked. "You know, in former times I sometimes thought, you were never there when really needed. No offence meant, Albus - it certainly wasn't your fault. You're a busy man; you can't sit in your chair at Hogwarts all day and night ..."

"I sometimes would rather like," Albus sighed, "especially when it comes to Severus and the dark mark. But sometimes I'm away and then he must bear the pain until he finds me. And in this unfortunately shows exceptional pigheadedness. He sometimes waits pretty long because he thinks he shouldn't bother me. It has become one of our favourite reasons for rowing by now ..." They had arrived at the entrance hall now where Harry and Severus waited already, both standing in front of the glasses with the house points. Hermione's gaze went automatically to the Gryffindor glass - and she blushed. She was absolutely sure: As she'd last looked at it in the morning, it had shown 645 points for Gryffindor. Now it was 650! Hermione was pretty sure: Harry hadn't earned five points this day - how could he? She knew he'd spent the biggest part of the afternoon on the Quidditch pitch where he'd given the little Hufflepuff a flying lesson. So there were only one explanation for the five points and this made Hermione blush even deeper and tug on Albus' sleeve. "Albus - you really can't do that," she whispered.

"Hmm?" He looked at her over the rim of his spectacles.

"The points!" Hermione hissed.

It was too late. Severus had heard their steps and turned around, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes cold and expression unreadable. "Headmaster," he started and Hermione cringed. Severus using the formal address was always a very bad sign. It mostly meant that he was far away from any agreement with his friend and superior. And now he was off for making this entirely clear, his voice once again sounding like silk over steel. "I don't want to be impudent, but I wondered how Gryffindor with only two students in residence managed to earn five points - especially with one of the students being in the air half of the day."

"It must have been the other student earning points then, Professor Snape," Albus gave back, his voice a bit chilly too.

"Oh?" The potion master's eyebrow almost reached his hair line. "I see. I shouldn't have asked, sir."

"Indeed," Albus said. "You shouldn't have asked, Professor."

Hermione swallowed. Her sense of fairness revolted in her and a tiny voice in the back of her head - and heavens, why did it sound like Harry in a bad mood? - sneered: "Embarrassed from this husband of yours? You know, that comes from falling in love with a Slytherin."

But then she heard Albus' voice again, calm and kinder now: "Perhaps I'm wrong, Severus, but I think Hermione as a student of this school should be treated as every other student. That means to me that she'll earn points for her house when she deserves it and that she'll lose points when she deserves it. And ...," now he had his "don't forget who I am"-tone switched on, "... I believe I am - even under given circumstances - able to judge her performances - at least when I'm her teacher. So I awarded her five points today for outstanding development in her transfiguration training."

Hermione bitted her under lip. She felt as if she'd just got a little dressing down too - and actually: She hadn't deserved it less than Severus whose cheek showed now a slight pink. Harry in the meantime showed no sign of pink, but Gryffindor purple and not only in his cheeks, but from the hairline to the collar - and Hermione was sure: The tomato red reached even deeper. Probably he'd blushed with his toes also.

Once again it was Albus who broke the silence. "I've charmed a port key for going to the Burrows." He pulled an old ruler out of one of his inner pockets. "Are you ready?"

Hermione, Harry and Severus gathered round, each of them laying their hands on the port key-ruler. Hermione got Severus' long hand directly next to hers, so close, that she could feel that his fingers slightly trembled. She looked up to him and saw an odd expression flick over his pale face. It looked like a tiny smile in a pole of sadness.

Albus commanded: "On the count of three - one-two-portus!" and Hermione felt the familiar tugging at her navel and the rush of sickness which was so typical for travelling with a port key - and the reason she didn't like it. Her eyes lost focus in a whirl of colours; her body was pulled into it. As her feet found firm ground again, she felt so dizzy she fell and bumped against something solid, warm and dark. Feeling a strong hand support her, she got a scent in her nose, a very pleasant, manly blend from herbs and cedar and the lavender soap the Hogwarts house elves used for the laundry. She saw once again Severus Snape's dark eyes, but now as cold and distant as usual.

"Sorry, Professor Snape," Hermione stammered. Being so close to him she didn't want to use his given name - she felt already like invading his personal space and so she braced herself quickly. "I really hate travelling with port keys."

"That makes two of us," Severus said.

"And that means, that we actually should train Hermione as soon as possible in apparition," Albus added.

"I'd like that." Hermione looked around, still a bit dizzy. They stood only a few steps away from the Burrow, the home of the Weasley family, a rather old house with so many extensions it looked as if it were only kept from falling apart by magic - and this was, as Hermione knew, in fact the case. But nevertheless the Burrow had charm - the charm of a home beloved and made alive by a big family.

And now the door opened and Ginny Weasley stormed out in the yard, waving cheerfully and beaming: "Welcome!" She run to Harry and Hermione thought she'd jump at him, but obviously the presence of not only the Headmaster, but Severus too made her a bit shy. So it was Hermione who got the hug while Harry only was provided with a very happy smile by Ginny.

Yet Harry didn't have long to wait for an embrace. Molly Weasley followed her youngest child and far from being shy, cried cheerfully: "Happy Christmas! I'm so happy you could make it" and hugged not only Harry, but then with her right arm Hermione and with her left Albus. Still not ready with showing her affection, she grabbed without further ado the potion master and pulled him close, saying crisply: "Don't pretend you wouldn't need a hug now and then, Severus!"

Severus looked as if he'd like to give a rather acid answer, but behind Molly appeared now her husband - and although Arthur Weasley was one of the kindest men Hermione had ever met, even Severus seemed to know, that the best and quickest way to make Arthur show himself as the powerful wizard he actually was would be to say anything against his wife.

In former times Hermione had found Arthur's protectiveness against Molly sometimes a bit irritating. She had always wondered if Arthur really thought his wife - a member of the order and a highly respected auror before she became Mistress Weasley and mother of six - wouldn't be able to defend herself. Hermione had always been sure, that she'd rather fight against half a dozen death eaters than against one furious Molly and so Arthur's standing in her back had looked too patronizing and to belittle his wife with.

But by now she understood. She remembered how she'd felt in the night of the attack as she'd learned that Albus was in danger and she remembered how she'd felt on the Yule ball as she'd seen him with Fudge. Never for a moment had the thought that he wouldn't be able to defend himself crossed her mind, but this hadn't prevented her from feeling an urgent need to protect him. He was hers and she loved him and that meant that she would never stand by if some one tried to hurt him.

And evening with the Weasleys - of this Hermione had been sure before - could in any case become counted under the "pleasant events", but this occasion was even more. It was exceptionally nice. The dinner Molly had served had been delicious and though cooking wasn't a virtue Hermione was keen on even learning to do it herself, she had always appreciated Molly Weasley's skills and the effect they made on other people - like Albus for example. As he'd taken his third helping of Molly's excellent dessert - a Bavarian crème and fruits in Brandy - Hermione hadn't longer managed to resist the urge to tease him saying: "If I wouldn't know better, I'd reckon you wouldn't have got dessert for four weeks ..."

Yet she'd learned once again that in a battle of wits he always was an opponent not easy to get. With a look so harmless and innocent Malfoy jr. would have taken it as the prove for "the old dodderer don't having his marbles anymore" Albus had given back: "Perhaps I hadn't have enough cherries on top of my rice-pudding?"

Funny was that this hadn't made only Hermione blush, but Harry too. He had seemed different all evening against Hermione and even more against the headmaster, but Hermione was use to his sudden mood swings, therefore she hadn't thought too much about it. Besides she'd been too much amazed about Severus. Being use to him always picking his food and with Albus always glucking over him and making him eat more, she almost couldn't believe what a healthy appetite he'd developed for Molly's cooking. And even more - the potion master who was famous for his lack of social skills and his dislike of small talk had shown not only qualities in entertainment, but - in paying Molly detailed compliments and talking expertly about cooking - even some charms. And nobody except Hermione seemed to wonder about - though Harry's ignorance came probably from being so busy with drooling in Ginny's cleavage he even wouldn't have noticed Severus doing the dance of the nine foils on the table. But Albus and Arthur behaved as if Severus showing charms would be as normal as Albus liking sweets.

Now, almost one hour after Hermione and Ginny had helped Molly to clear the table, Hermione sat in one of the worn, but cosy chairs in front of the Weasley's fireplace, content, still busy with digesting - she'd definitely eaten too much - and quietly amused by the conversations around her. Next to her Harry, just back from a "digestion stroll" - Hermione thought the proper naming for it actually would have been "digestion snog" - in the garden with Ginny, had once again fallen victim to Arthur's famous curiosity about all things muggle. With Ginny seating on the wings of his chair, her arm around his shoulder, Harry just explained to Arthur what a movie was, how it was done and why one couldn't watch it only in cinema, but at home too.

Opposite Hermione on the big sofa sat Albus and Severus - the first as often bent forward, all attention directed at Molly who knitted one of her jumpers in the chair next to him. Severus kept distance. He had leaned back, his long legs were crossed at the ankles and his hands folded over his belly, his eyes were half-closed and for somebody not knowing him he'd looked bored and disinterested. Yet Hermione had learned to read his body language and she was sure: His leaning back didn't come from needing distance, but from feeling too full too. And he was in no way bored, but - as he proved with adding malicious comments whenever Albus and Molly looked at him - an active part in the conversation which only could be described as gossiping. Albus had just started it with telling them about the dinner party at the Fudges, doing now a pretty perfect imitation of Madame Fudge's saccharine tone, Severus provided his usual sneer and a "Of course, she knows everything about happy marriages with her husband always hanging around Rosmerta like a non-functioning light house!" and Molly, actually herself not what one would call a strong candidate for "Witch weekly's style award" , commented - not too nice, of course - Madame Fudge's funny taste in robes. "Can one of you explain to me why she loves wearing yellow so much? She always looks like a sick canary. If I'd had her money I'd get myself something nicer."

Hermione smiled in hearing that. She thought of the packages Albus had already giving Molly in which lay now in her kitchen closet to be opened the next morning. One of them contained Molly's gift - a luxurious, cream white pashmina shawl, Albus and Hermione had bought in Rome. Hermione, who'd gotten a blue one from Albus, was sure Molly would love it - and she only regretted she couldn't give Molly more. But at least Hermione had bought something special for Ginny - a silken, flimsy negligee, almost translucent and in no way useful to wear at Hogwarts or in the Burrows. Hermione had found it in Rome while Albus and she were actually searching for a robe for Ginny and Albus had grinned as Hermione had paid for it from her own money, telling him that Harry would probably get the jitters if he were to hear that Albus knew about this garment. By now the shrunken box with the negligee was in Hermione's pocket and, thinking of it, she tugged at Ginny's sleeve.

"Ginny?" she whispered.

"Yes, Hermione?" Ginny turned her head and gave her friend one of her sweetest smiles.

"Don't you want to give me the hair taming potion we've talked about?" Hermione asked harmlessly, hoping that Ginny would get the message.

In contrast to her brother Ron who wouldn't have even seen a hint when it came as a hippogriff trampling all over him, Ginny was a clever girl. Jumping on her feet and gripping Hermione's hand, she beamed: "Oh yes - how could I forget? Let's go upstairs for a moment, shall we?" And well-mannered as she was, she smiled in the round: "You will excuse Hermione and me for a few minutes?"

Together the two girls run up the stair to Ginny's small room under the roof of the Burrows where they sat down on the bed. Hermione pulled the gift out of her pocket, grew it back to its regular size and gave it to Ginny. "You know," she said, "we were in Rome. I've bought you something there and I thought you'd probably like unpacking it without your parents watching."

"Uiii!" Ginny fidgeted impatience. "May I open it?"

"Of course," Hermione wanted to see Ginny's face when getting the nightie.

Practical girl Ginny was she charmed the wrapping paper to open, let it - folded neatly - fly to her little desk and looked then to the elegant, dark blue box with the inscription "Bella Bellissima, Roma". Cautiously she opened it and became big eyes as she saw the content. "Wow, Hermione!" She took the negligee with only using two fingers out, held it in front of her body and walked over to the little mirror on the back of her door. Balancing on tiptoes she tried to see her entire frame.

The mirror obviously liked what it saw. It whistled and said: "I think this will make a certain young man pretty excited."

Ginny turned around, stepped over to Hermione and hugged her. "Thank you, Hermione! You're such a darling. It's beautiful and I love it." Suddenly grinning she added: "Last year I got a book about transfiguration from you. I think being married suits you, Hermione. Though ...," she fell silent.

"Hmm?" made Hermione.

Ginny packed the nightie back in its box and put it in her closet and turned around again, facing Hermione: "Promise me, you won't hex me for what I'll say," she asked.

Hermione turned her eyes. "I promise. But I warn you: The 'he's too old for you' aria I don't like to hear again. It starts to get on my nerves that everybody seems to mind something I don't mind anymore, Ginny. You know, I'm aware that my husband is very much older than me, but for heaven's sake - is this really all what counts about him? Doesn't it matter that he's a brilliant wizard and kind and quite charming and very funny to be with and that he treats me with respect and more tenderness than I ever got from someone before? To me this matters more than his age, Ginny - it matters so much that I don't see Albus as an old man anymore. I look not at the wrinkles in his face anymore, but in his eyes - and did you ever notice how very much alive his eyes are? And when he moves - of course, you only know him in heavy robes which make for moving with dignity, but ..."

"... When out of his robes, he's still quicker on his feet than a lot of younger men," Ginny finished the line. "I know, Hermione. And I even know that the body under these heavy robes really doesn't look bad for a man of his age. He's got broad shoulders with still nice muscles and ...," Ginny giggled, "... his chest is nice - almost without hairs. I like that on a man."

Hermione looked at her girlfriend, her face a big question mark. "Ginny," she said, "how the hell do you know about Albus' chest?"

Ginny sank down on the bed, laughing. "Don't worry, Sweetie! Knowledge about his equipment I don't share with you - yet. But you remember how my family and I stayed at Grimmault's Place for a few days after Dad's incident? In one of the nights Mom and Snape were brewing a cleaning potion in the kitchen. Tonks came in - and you know how she is. She stomped, bumped iSnapSnape, hit him so unlucky, that he fell over the cauldron, the potion exploded and it sounded as if the death eaters were to storm the place. Everybody was immediately out of bed and running down at the basement. As I stormed out of my room, I became almost overrun by the headmaster. He'd been in the bathroom next to my room and had just taken a shower. He was wet from head to the naked toes and he only wore a towel around his middle second and his wand in the hand. He was incredibly quick in running down the stairs and into the kitchen. And so ...," she grinned once again to Hermione, "... it comes that I knboutbout how much hair on his chest your husband got. I saw him for quite a while with only the towel because he helped Mom and Snape to clean up the kitchen and then he even comforted Tonks before he went upstairs again. And you know, Mom and I are longing since this day to know what kind of spell or charm he uses for his hair. You don't know by incident?"

Hermione laughed. "No, I don't. I don't share the bathroom with him, only the bed."

"And how!" Ginny said dryly.

Hermione blu, re, remembering the afternoon and how they'd used the floo for going from the class to the bedroom. Although she'd by then felt absolutely satisfied and only in need for a nap, Albus hadn't needed long to convince her about a second round and though it hadn't been so passionate and wild as the first one on the desk Hermione doubted very much that Ginny with a lover so young and inexperienced as Harry would ever get a chance to become pleased so expertly and thoroughly.

Coming back from her memory to reality, Hermione saw Ginny grinning and asked: "What do you mean by that?"

Ginny pushed her shoes away, pulled her legs up and seating now in a lotus seat on the bed, giggled again. "That's what I wanted to tell you and because I wanted you to promise not to hex me. Do you promise now?"

"Of course I do." Hermione became a bit impatient.

"Well, well - then I'll tell you the tale I've heard only a few minutes before. It starts with a boy named Harry Potter - a very cute boy, not too bad a wizard and an even greater Quidditch player. On a very cold winter afternoon not very long ago this boy came back from training. Walking along an empty hall in his school - as far as I'm informed it was the Hogwarts school of Wizardry and Witchcraft, a really well renowned place - our hero suddenly heard a woman's scream behind a door."

"Oh heavens!" Hermione hide her face in her hands - she knew what would come.

But Ginny didn't spare her the rest of the story. Even wider grinning she proceeded: "Our hero pulled of course his wand out immediately and run to the door. Coming closer, he heard the voice again - and this time he recognized it: The woman who screamed was his best friend, a certain Hermione Granger-Dumbledore ..."

"Ginny!" Hermione begged her face still in her hand. "I'll die from embarrassment."

"You won't, Sweetie! You've already survived more." Ginny assured her. "The stbecobecomes even better: Harry - hero as he is - wanted naturally to rescue his friend. He didn't think that she probably just suffered a fate much more better then death, so he raised his wand and just wanted to cast an 'Alamahora' as he suddenly heard another voice. It said ...," Ginny sunk her voice for an entire octave and tried to sound silken: "I wouldn't do that, Mister Potter.' Our good Harry turned around and found himself face to face with his most favourite Professor, Severus Snape, whom I asked why the heck he shouldn't open the door and if Snape wouldn't have heard you were screaming. Just in this moment you screamed again and now Harry - and probably Snape too - could understand the words. It was ... uhm ... how shall I say? A pretty clear formulated invitation for your husband to do his marital duty?"

Hermione fell forwards, putting her face in one of Ginny's pillows. Sounding much muffled, she moaned: "I don't know how I shall ever look Harry or Snape in the eyes again! That's so embarrassing!"

Ginny grinned and stroke comfortingly over Hermione's shoulder. "It seems your husband forgot in the heat of the moment to cast a silencing charm."

"I'm going to dismember him!" Hermione cried.

"I wouldn't," Ginny said amused. "Just on the contrary. A man who's able to make me scream like that probably would have a problem to get me ever out of his bed again - or a classroom, as the case may be."

"Ginny!" Hermione came out of the pillows, looking to her friend. "Would you like to have Harry and Snape as witnesses?"

Once again Ginny giggled. "Harry I wouldn't like as a bystander. I still hope he'll become the man who makes me scream. For Snape I don't care. It's his problems if he sneaks around all the time. Probably he was only angry because he couldn't take any points from you. But at least he can comfort himself - it was a Slytherin who shagged you ..."

"Oh, Ginny - I'd love to have your humour in such things!" Hermione turned around, looking to the ceiling.

For a moment both girls were silent. Then Ginny spoke again. "Hermione, I must admit, I'm bursting with curiosity. I never thought of you as a screamer ..."

"Neither did I!" Hermione blushed even deeper.

Ginny sighed. "I'd like to have a lover who mame sme scream ..."

"But ..." Hermione had never felt much comfortable when discussing sex, so she became red as a tomato. "I thought you're in love with Harry!"

"Of course I am," Ginny answered. "But I was his first and," she shrugged her shoulders, "Harry was perhaps a natural on a broomstick, but he surely isn't one with his broomstick."

"Oh," Hermione made. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's actually quite funny," Ginny said. "Everybody would think that it's you with a rather old husband who isn't going to have much fun in bed, but in fact it's me with the young lover who doesn't get enough sex."

"You don't?" Hermione couldn't believe it. She'd thought she was the only one who wanted more than she got.

Ginny turned her eyes. "Actually - would you feel satisfied with only two or three minutes? Harry's always so overexcited he almost comes in the moment he enters. I can tell you: If we can't work this out, the only screams Snape will ever get to hear from me will be the screams of frustration!"

"Oh," Hermione made once again, swallowing. "But ... I mean ...," she stammered. Giving another girl advice on her sex life felt very strange, but Ginny was her friend and Hermione felt, that she - despite of the light tone she tried - really suffered. "You know, Ginny, penetration isn't the only way to satisfaction. A man's got hands and a mouth ..."

Now Ginny grinned again. "And all this hair ..."

Hermione sighed. For a moment she fought with herself, but then she decided to tell Ginny the truth. "Ginny, I'm not so much involved with 'all this hair' as you might think. Whenever I am with Albus - I mean, when we sleep together - he uses a potion. It makes him look and feel as he were around 30 ..."

"Wow!" Ginny was on her hands and knees, looking to Hermione, her mouth forming an "O" as big as a cartwheel. "Wow again!" she said." You're really a lucky cow, Sweetie. I saw once atureture from the headmaster as he was round 60 or so. He looked damn good and with 30 - dear me, he must have been dead sexy. These blue eyes and the fine skin and blond ..."

"He wasn't blond, Ginny," Hermione said. "He's got auburn hair."

"Even better!" Ginny, a redhead herself obviously liked auburn hair. "Was it as long as today?"

"No," Hermione said and pointed to her shoulders. "Just so ..."

"Nice!" Ginny found. "And this body - I mean, he's got a bit ofellyelly today, but as a young man ..."

"He was all muscles," Hermione confirmed smiling, amused by her friend's delight.

"Now I get why you fell in love with him so entirely!" Ginny cried. "You've always had a thing for elder men - and Dumbledore, aged 30 - not too bad! I think I'd like that too. Say - was he already such a charmer and so sweet as he is now?"

"I don't know, Ginny. I only get the young man's body - the mind is Albus as you know him," Hermione lent back on the pillows. To talk with Ginny about Albus didn't feel odd anymore - it felt relieving, as if she could sort out her feelings at last. "You know, Ginny, I was first convinced too that I've fallen in love with young Albus. He is the one I sleep with and first I thought he's the one I desire. But now ..."

Ginny had heard attentatively, her blue eyes watching her friend closely. "You don't know anymore? Of course you must feel very confused. One doesn't love only a body - as nice it is to have a lover with a nice one. But the person in the body is much more relevant."

"Quite," Hermione nodded." And the young body is Albus - the old Albus, I mean. Only I don't see him anymore as an old man. I like him just how he is and I like watching him when he thinks I don't look at him and ...," suddenly Hermione started crying. "You probably think I'm gone mad, but I even like his belly and this afternoon - Ginny, you must think I'm mad! Totally mental, as Ron would say!"

Ginny crawled over the bed to Hermione and embraced her. Stroking her back, she said, sounding almost motherly: "Tell me, Darling - you know yon ten tell me everything."

"Ginny, it's really absolute crazy!" Hermione cried. "You know, this bloody potion only works for four or five hours. This afternoon he drank it and we made love - first in the classroom and then in our bed. And ...," she coughed, but proceeded bravely: "By the second time he made me come so often and hard I really passed out for a moment. Afterwards I was so tired, I needed a nap."

"Understandable," Ginny smiled. "I only wish I'd need a nap afterwards. But proceed. What happened after your nap?"

"Albus was back," Hermione answered. "I mean, the old Albus."

"And it was kind of a shock?" Ginny asked.

"No!" Hermione shook her head so energetic her hair fell in her face. Pushing it back, she said: "I'm actually much more familiar with the real Albus than with the young one, you know? But ... oh, Ginny, it's so difficult to explain! You really must think I'm gone mental."

"I don't," Ginny assured her. Wrinkling her forehead, she said thoughtfully: "I just try to figure out what I'd feel in such a situation. You love him - the real one, I mean."

"Yes, Ginny, I do. I love and adore him and I never want to hurt him - and that was what I felt this afternoon. He was kind and good and gentle as always, but - he didn'inklinkle. Not once! His eyes were sad again and I felt as if I'd have cheated on him."

Ginny looked at her, then she nodded slowly. "I understand. In a way you did. Hermione, you didn't sleep with him, but with ..."

"Yes!" Hermione shouted, jumping on her feet and walking over to the window. "I asked myself how I'd feel if somebody would do that to me ..."

"Icks!" Ginny shuddered. "You know, this reminds me to Percy and his bride. She's rather plain and I think Percy only wants to marry her bec she she's the only daughter of a very rich man. But in the same time he wants a wife other people envy him for. So he makes her wear disguise charms and he even talked her into a muggle thing - an operation for getting bigger tits! Isn't that ghastly? Can you imagine being with some one who doesn't wants you for what you are, but only an improved version?"

Hermione sat down again on the bed. "That's what I've done to Albus, Ginny," she said quietly. "In our first night hid hid he'd 'improve his appearance' for me ..."

"Hermione!" Ginny took her by the shoulders. "Whose idea was that?"

"His," Hermione answered.

"That's the difference between my stupid brother and you. You didn't demand it."

"But by now Albus thinks I'd be repulsed by his true appearance!" Hermione cried again. "And I can't bear the sadness in his eyes any longer, Ginny. I can't betray him with himself!"

"Then you've got the solution to your problem, Hermione," Ginny said very calm. "Don't do it anymore. Tell him you don't want him to use the potion."  
"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione slung her arms around her friend. "If only it would be so easy!"

Ginny sighed. "Where's the problem, Hermione?"

Hermione blushed once again. Quietly she said: "I simply don't know if my Albus - I mean, the real one - is up to sleep with me. You know, we have to do it at least twice a month ..."

"And you doubt his potency?" Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded. "You know, he told me once that he'd desire me. But he never let me so close to his real form ever ..." A tomato would by now have looked pale compared to Hermione who stated stammering: "I mean ... in Rome ... and by my second transfiguration lesson ... I kissed him while he was in his real form ... but ... I really don't mind his belly, Ginny, believe me, I don't! But ... I mean ... if you're such a dwarf as I am and you were kissing a man as tall as Albus is ... and he's got a bit of a belly ..."

"... and he wears robes as your husband does," Ginny giggled. "He could probably hide a dragon with an erection beneath and you would never be the wiser."

"Just so! And I can't ask him - can I?" Hermione sighed.

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "Why not? Besides: Wasn't it you who just told me a man wouldn't need an erection for giving satisfaction? I've thought you'd got this piece of knowledge from sex with a Slytherin. It's said they're pretty talented in bed."

"Oh yes," Hermione said dryly. "Imagine Crabbe and Goyles!"

"Iiih!" Ginny made a face. "But they aren't real Slytherins. They're only lousy excuses for baby death eaters. Yet think of Snape and Malfoy ..."

"Draco?" Now Hermione shuddered. "Ginny - don't make me think about the bedroom manners of the little slim ball! It makes me wish for a nice cell in a silent nunnery!"

"Who talking about the little ferret?" Ginny grinned. "I was talking about Malfoy senior - and though he's a really nasty piece, I don't doubt that he actually knows how to satisfy a woman. I'm only not sure if his ways of doing so wouldn't be far too advanced for my taste. So if I would have to seduce a Slytherin, I'd take ..." She grinned broadly to Hermione who just had wrinkled her forehead. "No, dear, I know you'd hate sharing your talented husband. So I'd take our dear potion master."

"Severus?" Hermione had never thought about the potion master as a sex object.

"Of course! I mean sweet Severus," Ginny giggled again. "Or Sevvie, the dark Slytherin sex god as Wendy Newman likes to name him."

"What?" Hermione always fell from the bed. "Sevvie?"

"Sevvie!" confirmed Ginny. "And you know, I'd love to see his face if he'd ever hear that."

"I wouldn't," Hermione said. "I don't have a death wish, thank you very much. Therefore I wouldn't volunteer to come close to the volcano when he's just about to explode."

Ginny fidgeted in amusement. "And here I thought you were by now in use with hot, exploding Slytherins. When I think of the headmaster's stunt with the dementors - roar! He's got quite a temper, your always kind husband. What brings us back to your problem ..." Looking seriously again, Ginny said: "Hermione, I don't think it's much of a risk to ask him. I mean he wasn't exactly shut down as you got him, so ..."

"Huh?" Hermione made. "Shut down?"

"Hermione!" Ginny said with forced patience. "Don't you tell me you were the only person in or close to the order who didn't know about the headmaster's affair with Rosmerta Shacklebolt?"

"I actually didn't know!" Hermione answered. "At least not before our marriage. How should I?"

Ginny turned her eyes. "You're worse then Harry! He noticed one evening Rosmerta having a white hair," she parted her arms for showing, "so long on her robe. And as he saw Fawkes a few days later on a windows in the second floor of the Three Broomsticks, it cli by by Harry."

"I saw Fawkes once there too," Hermione said thoughtfully. "But I thought it was order's business or perhaps ..."

"... Hogwarts headmaster ordering the butter beer for the next feast?" Ginny laughed. "Hermione, sometimes you're really rather a sheep. Of course, your husband who wasn't your husband this time and Madame Rosmerta ever snogged in public. But it was common knowledge that they slept together. And ..." Ginny became serious again, "I'm pretty convinced that Madame Rosmerta doesn't see her bed as an asylum for hopeless cases. Fudge - and even you must have noticed that he tried for years! - Never stood a chance with her. So I'd say it's proving enough. If your husband would suffer from impotence he could certainly make up for it with competence. And as long as the ministry doesn't start to tell us what kind of sex we're to have, I don't see a problem with you getting your love life sorted out."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: News and New Year

"Albus, sometimes you're a genius!" Hermione marched in the drawing room where Albus stood in front of the big window, approached him and laid from behind her arms around him.

He obviously wanted to turn around, but she stopped him. "Don't move. I want to admire your back."

"I didn't know I've got an admirable back," he chuckled. "But if it makes you happy - it's all yours."

Hermione buried her face in his mane and sighed contentedly. "You know," she said, sounding a bit muffled, "I haven't seen Harry this excited in months. You really made him happy."

Albus laid his hands over hers, resting on his chest. "He gave me socks for Christmas. I had to do something for him too."

"But sending him and Ginny to the New Years Party at the Auror's Academy - that really was a brilliant idea! With 100 aurors around he and Ginny are absolutely safe ..." Hermione said.

"... and they'll have fun." Albus pulled one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it. "Hermione - are you sure you wouldn't like going there too? I could make you a port key, you could join ..."

"No!" Hermione tugged lightly on his hair. "No, you won't get rid off me so easily. I've had more parties over the last weeks than I ever thought I'd celebrate in my life time and now I'm very much looking forward to a quiet evening at home - and with you, if you don't have other engagements."

"I haven't." Now he turned around and took her in the arms. "And I'm glad you're here with me, Hermione. If I were alone I might get a bit sentimental."

"Yuck!" Hermione made and rose on her tiptoes to blow a kiss on the tip of his nose. "A sentimental Slytherin? That's a contradiction in terms. We can't have that, can we? Severus would get the jitters about it. Oh - by talking about him ..." She became serious again. "What will he do this night?"

"You're afraid he'll become sentimental?" Albus grinned. "Hermione, the saviour of sentimental Slytherins ..."

"No, Albus. I don't think Severus needs to be rescued because he could become sentimental. But I wouldn't like to think of him brooding alone in his depressing dungeons on New Years Eve."

"First, my dear ...," Albus moved over to his favourite chair in front of the fireplace and pulled Hermione in his lap, "... I can assure you, that Severus' private quarters aren't depressing. Perhaps you wouldn't like the decoration in the Slytherin colours, but it's nevertheless quite elegant. Second: You mustn't worry. He is not alone."

"Oh," made Hermione. She thought immediately of Shanda - and she wasn't sure if she liked the idea of her being with Severus.

"Oh, oh," echoed Albus. "Must I use legilimency or will you tell voluntary why you're looking like Minerva when she'd caught two poor students in flagrante delicto?"

Hermione sunk her head and looked to Albus' hand on her knees. It was unmistakable an old hand - the skin dry and almost translucent over the bones, the dark blotches a stark contrast against the white of the skin, the index finger once broken to pieces and never health completely, therefore in its upper part not so straight as its fellow fingers. But it was nevertheless a strong and gentle hand and Hermione loved it. Taking it, she laid it against her face and snuggled her cheek in the warmth of the palm.

Albus seemed to understand. "So bad, little lioness?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. Slowly she said: "I think I know with who Severus is. I saw his guest last time as she left the castle."

"Hmm," Albus made. "And you don't approve ..."

Hermione didn't answer. She only chewed on her under lip.

"I know you too well for believing you're a prude, Hermione," Albus said now. "Yet you're very young and so perhaps you don't understand ..."

"No, Albus," Hermione interrupted. "It's not like that. It's only ..." She searched for words. "I mean - I feel ashamed, you know?"

"For Severus?" Albus' voice was firm and energetic now.

Hermione smiled slightly. Albus' fierce loyalty - whenever he could afford it - to his potion master was something she liked very much. "Don't ruffle your feathers, Albus," she calmed him therefore. "I'm not ashamed for Severus." She became serious again. "It's more ... I'm ashamed for us. He's sacrificed so much for our side - but what does he ever get back? I simply hate the idea that he shan't have more than what a prostitute can give him. He deserves better!"

"He will get better," Albus said. "After the war ..."

Hermione lent a bit back and watched him. His face was very serious and his eyes - though she saw fire in them - grave. And suddenly she felt how shudders run down her spine. It made her feel chilly and she shivered. Almost fearful she said: "Sometimes you frighten me, Albus. You sound as if you'd know what will happen after the war. And I can't help - you don't look as if you'd look forward to it."

She'd hoped to get comfort from him - perhaps even one of his cheeky smiles and something what would make her laugh, but instead he took his spectacles down and started to massage the bridge of his nose. "Contraire to popular belief I'm really not omniscient, Hermione - and I'm glad about. Knowledge is often a burden and I've got already enough of it."

Hermione swallowed. "You do know something about what will happen after the war," she whispered.

"No." Albus shook his head and put his spectacles up again. Now he suddenly looked very old and tired. "I don't know what will happen after the war. I have a few ideas, even a few plans, but first we will have to win." He tried a smile. "But we will, Hermione."

"I can't imagine life after the war," Hermione felt a bit better and laid her head back against his shoulder. "Life without fear, without living under Voldemort's dark shadow. Can you imagine what we'll do then?"

"Of course." He stroked her back. "In the contrast to your generation I was lucky enough to live in peace for a long period. I was born in a war - my parents fought in the Goblin's revolution of 1840 - 1845. Afterwards my generation enjoyed peace until 1916. Grindelwald arose and we were at war again. In 1945 we managed to defeat him and once again our reward was peace - for almost 35 years. Then, in 1979, we learned, that they was a next dark lord trying to destroy our world - Voldemort. I think he'll fall - this time for good - in a few months. Then your generation will get their period of peace."

"You don't believe this war will end all wars ..." Hermione said sad.

"No, my little lioness, I don't. I only hope your generation will learn from this war. If you stay united, if you make your community a place where all 'men of good will' find their peace, then you'll have a fair chance the next dark wizard won't become so powerful as Voldemort and Grindelwald." He pulled her closer and in an attempt to lighten the tone he said: "Why don't you take notes, Hermione? This speech will come in handy when you're one day Hogwarts' headmistress."

"I'll become your successor?" Hermione laughed. "Oh, that's nice. I don't have to move then. You know, I rather like it here ..."

Obviously she'd said the wrong thing. For a moment Albus became rigid and she felt how his hand on her back trembled. Then his smile was back, but forced. "You need to see a bit more of the world than Hogwarts, my dear. So you will move - from here to Oxford and afterwards - I'd say, you should travel a bit. France, Italy, South America, Australia. The world is so much bigger then Hogwarts and for becoming Minerva's successor, you should see and learn as mush as you can ..."

"Oh, I'd love to travel!" Hermione cried. "You know, I've always dreamed of going to Australia. What I've read about the magic of the Aborigines, is fascinating."

"Yes, it is and after the war and your time at the university you'll go there," Albus smiled. "But I hope, you won't forget to find yourself a wizard for a husband and as father for your children. You know, I don't see young witches as broodmares, but ..."

"Albus!" Hermione had jumped on her feet. Standing now on the fireplace with her back to him, fumbling nervously on photography of her parents, she said: "A few days before you said you were only an episode in my life. Now you advise me to get myself a husband. So allow me one question: Do you intend to divorce me after the war?" Her fingers trembled and her knees seemed so weak she had to grip the mantelpiece for support.

The silence stretched and seemed to fill the room, making it cold and hostile and Hermione couldn't bear to wait for his answer any longer. Whirling around, she shouted: "How tactless of me to ask at New Year's Eve ..." She wanted to hurt him now how he'd hurt her with his silence, she wanted to throw the pictures from the mantelpiece to him, she wanted to kick against the table, to destroy what felt like "home" only a few minutes ago - and then she heard his voice, very hoarse and very, very old.

"I indeed didn't wish to discuss this subject today ..."

"And when would you have wished to?" Hermione breathed hard. "I thought - I really did, stupid as I was - we had an agreement about being honest with each other. But I forgot: You're a Slytherin. A cunning, scheming, lying, manipulation Slytherin. And you're even worse than Malfoy because you're a Slytherin disguised as the keeper of the light!"

He'd rise. Standing straight he looked at her and Hermione cringed and backed away. She'd seen him furious before, but never before his rage had been directed against her. But now his eyes blazed and his voice filled the room and ringed in her ears. "You stubborn Gryffindor with the subtlety of a brick wall! You really could drive a saint to murder!" he roared. "What would I have to do until you'd get it in your pig head that I love you? I wouldn't divorce you for the world even if you manage on a regular base to drive me crazy. But I can't close my eyes like you. I know that we can't win this war without a sacrifice - and it won't be Harry. I will not allow that he dies and I will not allow him to become a killer."

Hermione felt as if his rage would have blown her flat against the wall. Swallowing she said with a very small voice: "But the prophecy ..."

"Fuck the prophecy!" Albus shouted.

Hermione wouldn't have wondered if she'd found herself hanging upside down in the air now. Albus shouting? This was a first. Albus using profanities? This must mean the world just had decided to stay on its head. To that Hermione couldn't say more than a weary "Albus ...", but he obviously didn't notice.

Pacing up and down the room - and heavens, Hermione never would have believed that a robe so heavy as Albus' could billow like that and it made her almost laugh hysterically because an image of a herd of toddlers, wearing Slytherin robes and practising under Snape's supervision to make them billow, had crossed her confused mind.

She heard herself - still sounding like a small child: "I don't understand ..."

"You don't?" He stopped pacing. "Then let me get you the special version for Gryffindors: I - that means me, your husband - am not - I repeat: not! - willing to accept a prophecy which would - if accepted - ruin not only a boy's life, but would set our entire world at risk." Pacing again, he proceeded. "I've spent almost 18 years - yes, Hermione, 18 years! Your entire life time - in thinking about. Now I am sure: I won't stand by, hoping that Harry will do the dirty work. I've read Shakespeare again, a few months before and there I found just the right words. Caesar says them: 'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves'. I never have thought much about divination. I won't start to believe in it now. Our fate isn't written down in prophecies; it's not engraved in stone, unchangeable and inescapable. Our fate is what we decide to do with our life - and I have made my decision now: I will destroy Tom Riddle. I will - not Harry. Don't get me wrong, Hermione: I don't think him too weak. Harry is a powerful wizard and with the gift his mother gave him he could stand against Riddle. . I'll even need his help for getting Riddle. But the last stroke, the infinitive killing of the monster will be what I'll perform."

He stood now behind his chair, his hands gripping the back, the knuckles white. Slowly sliding his head, his voice became quiet again. "Until a few weeks ago, I thought I could do this easily. I've lived for 163 years and it was a good life. So I thought of death as the last great challenge - nothing to fear, but something to look forward to. Then you came in my life, this almost finished life. First I thought: What can this few months mean? I'll be an episode in her life and you ...," he smiled to her apologizing, "... another task of mine. Only I missed one big number in my calculation: Love. I didn't want to see it, I fought against it, but - you've asked for honesty and you'll get honesty: I've fallen in love with you, Hermione - so much that I find myself wishing to take you and to run away with you, away from this war, away from my responsibilities, my duty, my honour, my belief. But I can't. It's your future too I'll fight for. And I promised I'd protect you ..."

"Albus ..." Hermione was next to him, pulling at his arm. "Albus, please ..."

He loosened his grip at the chair and stretched his arm. "Come her, my little lioness ..."

Hermione sank in his arms, keeping to him as she'd fear something or somebody would take him away in the next moment. "Albus, I love you ... I love you so much ..."

He didn't answer. He only buried his mouth in her hair and held her close.

A few minutes they stood in silence, and then he breathed deeply and said: "Shouting is a waste of energy. I should by now have learned that."

"Let's sit down, shall we?" Hermione took his hand and led him to the sofa. "Shall I get you something? Tea? Brandy? A fire whiskey?"

"No, thanks." He sat down and pulled her once again close to him. "For the moment I need only you ..."

Hermione curled up next to him. She felt as if she'd just made a trip through paradise and hell - to know that he loved her - this was paradise. But ... no, she even couldn't get herself to think the thought consequently to the end. A life without him - she didn't want to think about! Not now, not tomorrow, not next year this time. Perhaps in 10 years, but not now! Not now after she'd just found him, not now after she'd just started to love him.

"Albus," she said. "You've just said, fate wouldn't be inescapable." In her a small shimmer of hope began to lighten. "How can you be so sure then about your death in destroying Voldemort?"

Slowly he took his mouth out of her hair. "Because I chose it, Hermione," he answered.

Hermione swallowed. "You think you have to sacrifice yourself for destroying Voldemort?" she asked and wondered how she could think so calm by it.

"I don't think, Hermione," Albus corrected her softly. "I know. It's the only way. You know: Riddle isn't human anymore. So destroying the body he is in would only weaken, but not really kill him - his essenhis his life force or however you want to name it. The only way - at least the only I could find - is using a very ancient blood magic. Yet it can't be done without a sacrifice. ..."

"But Albus," Hermione cried. "That was what Lily Potter did, didn't she? And it ...," she fell silent.

"This time it will work," Albus said firmly. "I certainly don't underestimate Lily Evans-Potter. She was a powerful witch and she was very strong in her love to Harry. So she could save him. But Lily didn't sacrifice her life for destroying Riddle. She did it to protect her son - and so the biggest part of her magic wasn't directed against the enemy, but to Harry. Besides: Lily wasn't prepared. She didn't know the ancient spell; she even didn't have her wand. I will be prepared. I will use all my magic, concentrated by my wand."

Hermione shuddered - not only about his words, but because she could feel his magic - he seemed to radiate though her and the entire castle, strong, powerful and forbidding. "What will happen then?" she asked.

"He'll lose his magic," Albus answered calm. "And so will I. Then we'll die - he probably immediately because he's not human anymore, but only kept together by magic. I'll die a few hours or perhaps even a few days later - it depends of how much damage he can do to me before I get him."

"And ..." Hermione still wanted to hope, "... if you could go without damage in the battle? Could you then survive?"

"Without my magic?" Albus thought for a moment about it. "Not for long. Without my magic I'm a simple a human being and as such I'm very old. Without magic I'll waste away ..."

Hermione wiped a tear away - not too much effect because the next was already running down her face. "This means I will lose you ...," she whispered.

"Yes, Hermione," he simply answered.

"How long, Albus? What do you think how long we'll have?"

He sighed. "In the best case eight months. In the worse shorter. He can't wait longer than August because he needs Harry and Hogwarts. In the moment Harry leaves the school, Riddle risks to fight two battles - one against Harry, one against Hogwarts. This could lose him too much; therefore I think he'll attack in summer. Besides: We'll have an election this summer - in June, for being precise. Riddle will probably use it to make as much trouble as possible in the hope that our world is in even more chaos when he will strike. Only I intend to do a little Slytherin cunning and scheming at this occasion ..." Suddenly he grinned. "What do you think about becoming the minister's wife for a few weeks, my darling?"

Hermione starred at him with her mouth open. "You want to become the minister yourself?"

"Only for a few weeks. Then Arthur will take over - I'm sure he'll make a great minister." Albus chuckled. "And imagine Molly! I'd love to see how she gets a few especially lazy bureaucrats in the ministry moving their butts a bit quicker than they're used to now."

"Moment ..." Hermione raised her hand. "I'm only a stubborn Gryffindor with the subtlety of a brick wall ..." She managed a grin. "I need a moment to get that ..."

"Take your sweet time, Darling." Albus kissed her forehead and rose. Walking over to the fireplace, he took the little clock from the mantelpiece and ringed for Woopy. "I'd like to have a glass of vine now. What do you want, Hermione? Champagne? It's New Year's Eve ..."

"Actually ...," Hermione felt still more then only a bit confused. "You know, to learn first that I'm to become the minister's wife and then a widow ..."

"... Makes for a Brandy?" Albus smiled at Woopy who'd just appeared with a "pop" and a bow. "Woopy, would you please get us a bottle of the Chateau Rothschild, two vine glasses and a Brandy for Madame?"

"With the greatest pleasure!" The elf bowed again and disappeared.

Albus smiled to Hermione. "There's another point I wanted to speak about with you ..."

Hermione produced a weak smile. "You won't tell me you intend to become a ghost in the ministry after all this is done?"

"No, certainly, I will not. I'd hate to be a ghost. It's only something small. I wondered if I could perhaps persuade you to take your NEWTs at Beauxbaton."

"But why should I?" Hermione asked.

Before Albus could answer, Woopy was back with another "pop", carrying a tray. Albus took it from her, put it on the table, thanked the elf, whished her and her fellow elves a "Happy New Year" and dismissed her. Then he gave Hermione the Brandy, purred himself a glass of red vine and sat down on the sofa again. "Beauxbaton would serve two reasons," he explained. "First: They're doing NEWTs earlier then we - in May instead of July. That means you could be ready with school when the election period starts. Second: Nobody could ever doubt your grades with the argument that you got favours from your husband or his friends and co workers."

"But ...," Hermione sipped at her brandy. "Beauxbaton is in France and I don't think my French is good enough ..."

"You won't have to do your NEWTs in French, ma petite. I've already spoken with Madame Maxime and with the French minister. They will use translation spells and so ..."

Hermione shook her head and laughed. "You thought of everything, didn't you?"

"Cunning Slytherin noblesse obliges, Hermione." Albus took her hand and looked her in eyes. "Hermione, I know I'm asking a lot from you. And I'm even to ask more ..."

"Yes, Albus?" Hermione discovered she didn't like Brandy very much and put the glass down.

Albus seemed to think for a moment, and then he pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed. "You're an exceptional brave young woman, Hermione and I'm very proud of you. Therefore I want to ask you for your help. I will need your love, your support, your tenderness and your courage. You have become my friend, my comrade, my harbour. Will you be there for me?"

"Yes, Albus ..." Hermione swallowed. After an entire week of thinking she'd decided this morning to talk with him. Now the evening hadn't been what she'd expected, but - the promise he wanted from her she couldn't give in without clearing this one point. And so she took her just praised courage, looked him in the eyes and said: "Albus, there's a condition to my promise. It's very important to me ..."

"Whatever is in my might,Hermione? What shall I do for you?" he asked.

Hermione found it hard to find the right words. But she had to tell him. Only she couldn't look at him by doing so and so she fixed her eyes on the glass in his hand. "Albus, it's about the potion ..." She saw how he gripped the glass firmer and she felt that he looked at her. Still starring at his hand with the glass in it she proceeded: "I don't want you to take it anymore. I love you and I feel as if I'd cheat on you when I'm with this younger version of you. It's too confusing, it's entirely wrong to me - sleeping with you, but actually it isn't you because when I look at you, it's not your face, the face I'm use with and when I touch you, it's not your body. Dammit, Albus - I want you! I need you and if it means I can't get more than your kisses because your old body doesn't allows us to do more than kissing, I won't complain. It will be better than to have a love who isn't really you." So - now she was ready and prepared for whatever was to come. Yet there came no answer - and finally she raised her head and looked at him.

He'd taken up his spectacles once again, but the storm sign - him massaging his nose with thumb and index finger - wasn't there. Instead he looked at her as if he'd seen her for the very first time in his life and although Hermione was in a complete turmoil, she giggled: "Now I've done it again - you're at a loss for words."

Albus nodded slowly. "Indeed - I am." Swallowing he opened his arms. "And if you don't come on my lap immediately, you'll finish this year not only with a sentimental, but with a crying Slytherin."

Hermione suddenly felt light headed. Perhaps it was the Brandy, perhaps it was the exhaustion after the storm - she didn't know and she didn't care. And the little, desperate voice in her which repeated over and over again: "You'll lose him - next year this time you're not his wife anymore, but his widow" - it was a reason more to climb on his lap and to lay her arms around him and to hold him as closely as possible. She'd lose him - but until then she'd collect memories of him like a squirrel collected nuts. And when the winter was to come, cold and lonely, she'd live from her memories. Whatever would happen in the future - this moment with him nobody would take away from her and through all her confusion and fear and sadness she was happy.

Suddenly he spoke again, his voice not more then a whisper. "I thought I'd never hear it again and I was angry with myself because I knew I'd miss it. It seemed so small compared to what was at stake - your life, your future - and I almost hated myself for thinking on it. And yet ..." His mouth searched hers and she tasted a salty tear on his raw skin and once again she thought, he should get kissed more often and she almost laughed because suddenly she was sure: He would get kissed often in the months they would have together.

"Albus, oh Albus ..." pullpulled his head on her chest and kissed it, drinking in the smell of his hair and enjoying the silkiness under her lips.

But suddenly she felt how his body which had been so relaxed in her arms, tensed and how he pushed his arm under her legs. Then he rose, carrying her in his arms and she heard him chuckle. "Madame Dumbledore, I very much hope you won't complain when I want to do a bit more than kissing you. I am ...," he was on his way to the bookshelf which glided away to show the stairs, "... certainly not so fit as I was in former times, but - to quote another wicked Slytherin headmaster - as long as my fingers and my mouth are in working order, no women will have to complain about leaving my bed unsatisfied."

For a moment, as he laid her on the bed and began to open the buttons on her shirt - not using magic, but one for one - Hermione felt a pang of stage fever, a fluttering in her stomach and a tremble in her fingers and dryness in her mouth. And in this few seconds she meant, she could hear fate laughing at her - the girl who had to go twice through the awkward experience of a first night. But then she remembered the Shakespeare quote Albus had used earlier: "The fault ... is not in our stars, but in ourselves." She knew she wouldn't allow this night to become a fault. Not this night, not the next one, none of the nights and days she'll spend with him. And with that all shyness and awkwardness was gone.

Hermione didn't blush anymore and not once she doubted what love and tenderness made her wish to do. It was right to kiss him and to stroke his head until he purred again and it was the most normal thing in the world to open the buttons on his robe and to unbent the leather belt which held it together and it felt absolutely right to push him then on his back, to shove his long beard away ("Just a moment - I'll shorten it," he said, but she shook her head: "Not now! I want you just as you are ...") and to blow kisses on his neck and down over the hollow of his throat to his chest. The few hair on it were silver now, the skin and the muscles beneath not so firm and smooth anymore, but the pink nipple still reacted immediately to her touch - the reaction seemed even stronger and so Hermione bent her head down and sucked on the rose bud. Albus moaned and started to sweat. She could taste the salt on his soft skin and she licked over it, letting back a wet trail, shimmering in the golden light of the candles. But now he tugged at her open shirt.

"I want to feel your skin, Hermione," he whispered.

But it was her who'd pulled her wand out first, waving it and murmuring the undressing spell. Both their clothes vanished and Hermione turned at her side, braced her head in one hand and looked at him.

He lay motionless, both arms under his head, his face neutrais eis eyes closed. Hermione knew that he needed all his bravery for exposing himself to her like that, she was aware that he was fighting his demon again, but she kno know that hiding was not an opportunity. He would have to learn that he was her choice and that she didn't love and desire him because of his age and softened body, but for what he was. His body was a part of him, more than only a shelter for his mind, soul and heart, and she was not only able, but willing to love and admire his body so much as she loved and admired the essence it kept.  
Her gaze wandered down - over his chest to his belly. She knew he didn't like it much, but she did and by asking herself why - even in such moments her analytic mind wasn't switched off - she giggled, bent down over the round belly and placed a kiss on it. Replacing her mouth with her hand, she looked up to him. He'd opened his eyes again - and smiled: "You know I like your belly?" she asked and without waiting for an answer, proceeded: "It's really cute."

"Cute?" Obviously he still hadn't learned to connect this word to himself.

Hermione laughed. "Yes, Albus - cute. I mean, you're not too fat. You're in a great shape for a man your age - you've only got this belly. It reminds me to of the little boy you once was. I like it - I really do. Besides ...," she giggled again, moved deeper in the bed and laid her head against his stomach, "... it's comfortable. I can use it as a pillow."

Now Albus laughed too, stroking her head and plaiting her hair over his skin. "I'm glad you like it. Admittedly I must confess to hope you won't find any thing more looking 'toddlerish' about me ..."

Hermione kissed his belly again. "Albus, you're vain."

"Of course I am. I am a man ..." He gave back with a little chuckle.

Hermione loved to hear that. He obviously felt more relaxed now and this made her feeling at ease too - enough at least for shifting again to have a look at his private parts. Although she'd rather have swallowed her tongue before she would have admitted it to him - against herself she was honest enough to confess that she'd been afraid of going to look there - afraid and absolutely uncertain how to deal with ... no, even for herself she couldn't find a word to describe what she'd feared to see. But her relief about the discovery that his private parts didn't show much signs of age was profound and made the last rest of tension go away. A closer look now - and yes, little changes were there: The thick, auburn curls she remembered were white now and the skin of his sac against them darker, almost chocolate brown now. And perhaps his balls weren't so tight to the body anymore and obviously he'd lost a bit of the former very strong muscles on his thighs, but his cock still was quite a sigh and - Hermione swallowed in relief as she registered it - he showed signs of arousal.

She didn't hesitate. She took him in her hand, bent her head and blew a kiss on the tip, just looking out of the surrounding skin. "Hello, Percival," she whispered. "It's nice to see you again ..."

Albus chuckled. His hand was still in her hair, but it only lay there, almost without any weight. He didn't push or tried to make her go into a direction, he only played with her curls. Hermione raised her head and looked in his eyes - blue as the sky in spring and filled with bright love. And before she thought about, Hermione heard herself ask: "Albus - can you still get an erection?"

His voice was calm and even a bit amused as he answered promptly: "Yes, my dear. I still get erections though not so quick and often as in young years. And I may need a little help to get one which is useful ..."

Hermione chewed for a moment on her under lip. She didn't mind giving him a "little help", on the contrary: As a girl who always liked a good challenge the thought of arousing him was exciting. Yet she hated to be less then perfect - even in doing small things she disliked immensely feeling clumsy and unabn pln pleasing the man she loved - this was way too important to dabble around with it. For a few seconds she cursed herself. Why had she never heard Lavender and Parvati's endless talks about this special subject? They both were probably Hogwarts' experts for "how to handle a cock" lessons and Hermione suddenly wished for a time turner for going back and taking a crash course. By thinking about she almost laughed: Their faces when she'd ask them and they'd become aware whose cock Hermione had in mind - they'd certainly be priceless! Probably the both would need for weeks of absolutely chastity for coming over this shock.

Besides: They probably weren't really experts. Their experience was restricted to boys - and Hermione didn't need to go through the entire Quidditch league for knowing, that pleasing these members wasn't a big challenge. Thinking of her conversation with Ginny and of her rather short experience with Victor Krum she supposed that Lavender and Parvati probably still were stuck in the first chapter of a "How to handle a cock - for beginners" while Hermione needed to read the last chapter in the second volume, named "The care of powerful wizards' sophisticated equipment" .

But: Didn't she have a teacher at hand? And wasn't he an expert in this certain field? Hermione was always one for learning from the best and therefore she said now: "Please, Albus - teach me how to touch you. I want to do it as good as possible - and therefore I may need a little help ..." She closed her fingers around him, feeling him soft, but heavy in her hand.

Now he pulled at her head. "Up!" he commanded.

"Hmm?" Hermione wasn't sure she'd understood right.

Albus laughed and opened inviting his arms. "First lesson, my little lioness: The wizard you've taken in your bed is still in his oral phase. He needs a lot of kisses for feeling pleased."

"Oh, he shall get it!" Without loosening her grip on his cock, she moved upwards and bent over him, kissing his forehead. "Like that?"

"Not exactly. A bit more to the south ..." Albus chuckled.

Hermione said: "Ah - yes, of course," and took the tip of his nose for her next kissing target. "Better?"

Albus laughed again and pulled her close. With his lips almost on hers he whispered: "Not good enough - at least not for Minerva's star pupil. Seems you need a private lesson ..."

"Arrogant Slyth ..." Hermione couldn't say more because she got a second tongue in her mouth. It tasted of red vine and hint of lemon and she smiled by kissing back - Albus probably was the only person on earth who liked to mix the taste of lemon drops and a Chateau d'Rothschildt. Or wasn't he? In his kisses she liked the blend too and she almost forgot herself in it, but then - her fingers lay still around his cock and as the kiss deepened, she felt how his member became even heavier.

Hermione moved her hand a bit - closer to the tip now, still very cautious, opening her fist and playing only with the tips of her fingers on the soft skin. It felt like velvet - only much more warm and alive and slowly, very slowly, but unmistakably stretching and becoming smoother by it.

"Hmm ..." Albus moaned quietly.

Now Hermione felt a vein under her finger tips and she followed it, stroking down to the base and over his testicles, cupping them. Her reward was another moan, then he spread his legs slightly and laid his hand over hers, guiding her gentle until she had his sac in her palm. Taking his hand away again, he said - and Hermione wondered, how clear his husky voice sounded: "Testicles are pretty sensitive - probably a man's most vulnerable part. Yet I like light playing ..."

Obviously he liked it very much. Hermione's soft stroking and rolling them in her fingers made him moan and kiss her again and then his hand was between her tights and gaining access to her centre.

Hermione broke the kiss and whispered: "Don't ractract me. We're in the middle of a lesson ..."

In the same quiet tone he answered: "its part of the lesson, my love: This too old husband of yours never was good in taking without giving back something ..."

Hermione used her free hand to take his. Putting it on his chest, she said: "It seems this is going to be mutual tutoring. You need to learn two lessons too, Albus. First: Wizards who say my husband is too old for me aren't permitted in my bed ..."

"Oh sweet Merlin!" Albus laughed. "That means you'll sleep alone for the rest of your life, freezing your sweet butt off."

"Don't interrupt me, Mister Dumbledore!" Hermione said in her best Minerva tone. "I'm not ready yet. And don't worry about my butt. I'm pretty good in warming charms, so your talent in warming my backside won't prevent you from slng ong on the sofa. Second: You will need to learn taking now."

"Yes, ma'am." Albus smiled and put his hand back under his head.

"That's a good boy!" Hermione praised him.

Albus grinned. "May the good boy get permission to play soon?"

"Only if he stops distracting me. You know, I've to concentrate at the task in my hand ..."

Albus became quiet, but Hermione saw the corners of his mouth twitching and his eyes twinkling. Laughing she kissed him once again, then she laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, she concentrated on her hand, her fingers still stroking softly over his testicles. Under her wrist, laying lightly on him, she could feel, how his shaft became harder and firmer. She loved the effect her ministrations had on him, and wanted to feel more of it. So she let her hand wander back on the cock, laid her fingers softly around it and stroked gentle upwards where the tip was now out of the foreskin. As she came close to it, Albus moaned again. Hermione smiled and tipped with one finger against the silken skin of his tip. No moan. So down again, back to the end of the pulsing vein. Touching it Hermione got a little sigh - and his hand over her's again, making her grip a bit firmer.

"My penis isn't as sensitive as my testicles, Darling. As much as I like your gentleness," he explained, "a bit more pressure would be nice."

Hermione didn't need to be asked twice. "A bit more pressure" made her feel his still increasing hardness and as a contrast to it the smooth skin covering it. And as she stroked up and down, the cock seemed to develop a life of its own, pulsing slightly against her hand. He was erect now and Hermione knew without being told, that he now would want even more than the bit of pressure Albus had asked for. Trying a firm grip around the base proved her right - he didn't only moan, but arched his hips with saying: "Oh yes ..."

Hermione smiled - and remembered suddenly that she'd got two hands. If one was to make him moan and buckle - what could the second do? There was no better way as trying and she knew already how and where. So shifting a bit she took his testicles in her left hand, playing softly with them while her right hand massaged the now rock-hard penis.

She'd hit the jackpot. Albus didn't moan quietly anymore, but struggled for breath, buckled and whispered: "Sweet Merlin - Hermione ..."

Hermione didn't stop - she just started to like this game very much. Yet by stroking more, she discovered something new: Her left index finger, touching the skin under his sac made Albus almost jump. His entire body tensed, sweat began to shimmer on his skin and he panted. Hermione was enthusiastic about her new finding and tried once again - and yes, there was one special spot which made him scream her name and arching his back. Falling back on the bed he said, his voice very husky: "Don't do that again, Love. You'll make me ejaculate ..."

"Oh, I'd like that ..." Hermione giggled. She really did - the knowledge that she could make Albus Dumbledore lose control was the biggest ego-boaster thinkable. It made her feel not only strong and powerful, but unbelievable womanly.

Yet Albus obviously didn't want her to get entirely dizzy with this feeling. He took her hands and pulled them up to his mouth, kissed both of them and said: "I would not." Embracing her he whispered in her ear: "I want to hear you scream and I want to feel you come while I'm inside you."

Hermione was already dripping wet and aroused, but his whisper made her needy. Nevertheless her curiosity was active and she simply had to ask: "Do you really feel my climax when you're inside me? How does it feel?"

He turned her around on her back and parting his legs with his hand, he answered: "It's the most wonderful feeling I can think of. You're very tight - and when climaxing becoming even tighter and hotter, closing around me in an indescribable arousing way. And to know that I can give you pleasure - I think, that's probably what I desire most ..."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: An old man's darling

"... and I really can't understand these people! Sometimes I really ask myself for what we teach and pray year after year what we'll get in the end adults as irresponsible like that!" Minerva McGonagall said. The transfiguration teacher and deputy headmistress of Hogwarts sat on a chair in front of her superior's desk, her hand gripping the edges as if she were ready to jump, her back erected, all muscles tensed and her green cat eyes furious. "And you can't imagine, what she told me as I got her at last to the floo. She said, she'd noticed the boy had been a 'bit feveri but but because he's always prone to colds, she didn't think much of it." She shook her head. "Didn't think much of it ...," she repeated. "That could become her epitaph once: 'She never thought much of something.'"

"Minerva!" Albus reprimanded his deputy with a smile. "Mistress Phelps didn't commit a crime ..."

"Didn't she?" Minerva looked at him. "I'd say not looking after her boy and sending him back to us bacteria's mother ship is almost a crime! Albus, we've by now got 22 cases of measles! The hospital wing is full, Poppy had to call in a healer from St. Mungos because she can't tend to so many patients, Hermione and Severus worked all night to brew enough pepper up and fever sinking potions - and there's no end in sight! This morning we got three children morowinowing the symptoms and one of them isn't a Hufflepuff, but a Slytherin, Albus! That means the infection is spreading." She rang her hands. "What are we to do if more students become sick?"

"We'll do what we've always done before in such cases," Albus answered calmly. "We'll open the emergency ward over the informatory, we'll ask St. Mungos for more support and we stay calm. A measles infection in a school certainly isn't what one would wish for Christmas, but it isn't a catastrophe neither, dear Minerva."

Minerva McGonagall obviously didn't agree. Shaking her head, she cried: "But Albus - what's about our seven and fifth years? 're 're to do their exams in only a few weeks, they can't afford to miss classes! And we've got already two sick fifth years and one feverish seventh year. None of them is good enough to make it through the OWLs or the NEWTs without full time studies!"

Albus sighed. Taking up his glasses, he massaged his nose and said: "They will need a few private lessons then. But can't we handle that? It's only a question of organisation and ...," he gave Minerva a charming smile, "...h yoh you as the master of organizinme sme schedules ..."

"Ssssst!" Something very small and glittering buzzed out of the fireplace and landed with a silver "clink" in front of Albus on his desk.

Minerva jumped on her chair. "What's that?" she called.

Albus was already on his feet. "That's ...," he started. Then he waved his hand. "Never mind. Minerva, where's Hermione?" His question sounded very urgent.

Minerva looked at the watch on the mantelpiece. "11:20," she said. "Advanced potions for seventh years, all houses ..."

Albus stormed already up the stairs behind his desk. "Meet me in the dungeons!" He called, run to the window and opened it. Pushing Hermione's ring over his little finger, he concentrated, changed into his animagnus form and took flight, out of the main tower and with forceful strokes of his wings over the wings to the backside of the castle. There he closed his wings and, pressing them tightly to his body, let himself fall down, head forwards. Only a few inches over the ground he opened his wings again, using them for bracing down the fall, landing on his spread claws. Once again he changed, this time back into his human form, and sprinted to a little door in the wall. He didn't need his wand or a spell to open it - all doors leading out of the castle were enchanted to open automatically when the headmaster stood in front of them. Yet this wasn't quick enough for Albus' hurry - pushing through it he throw it out of his ankles and it landed with a loud "bang" in the hall of the dungeons.

Albus hardly noticed it. He was already in front of the next door - the massive oak one on which a sign said "Potions classroom - Professor S. Snape, P.M." Albus knew: Under normal circumstances it wouldn't have been a good idea to storm in the potion class room without knocking - not only because Professor S. Snape P.M. loathed interruptions in his lesson, but because his classes, especially the advanced seventh years, preparing for their NEWTs, often worked with dangerous substances. But this surely wasn't a "normal circumstance". Hermione had sent her ring and this could only mean, she was in serious trouble. Nevertheless Albus tried to calm down. It wouldn't do storming in and frightening the students. If one of them would become jumpy and come to close to his cauldron, he could perhaps blow up half the class room.

So Albus opened the door slowly and - despite his heart hammering so hard he thought it could be heard all over the castle - stepped in quietly, his eyes searching for the familiar frame of Hermione. She'd obviously expected his entrance. Although she'd been bent over a cauldron, her eyes had flickered to the door immediately as he'd opened it. Now she gave him a tiny, relieved smile, but in the same time her eyes and her chin moved, pointing slightly in the direction of the teacher's desk. Albus, though he'd actually have liked to take her in his arms, feeling for himself she was uninjured and in one piece, followed the lead and he didn't like what he saw. Potion Master Severus Snape leaned on the edge of his desk, is tis trademark pose with his arms crossed over his chest, but he didn't look at his students, but fixed on a point on the opposite wall of the room as if he'd try to get a hold of it. His always pale face was white, the black eyes lay deep in their hollows, glittering like onyx and his black hair looked even lanker than usual, one strand sticking on his sweaty forehead. He hadn't noticed Albus' entrance - and Albus knew that this was a very bad sign. The always vigilant potion master even didn't notice as Albus stepped down through the room until he stood next to Severus.

On his way Albus had not only felt all the students' eyes on his back, he'd even noticed that the classroom's temperature was much too hot. Besides he'd seen the instructions on the chalkboard and cursed inwardly. The students were brewing the highly dangerous ward enforcement potion and Albus, a potion master himself, knew only too well that one wrong step by preparing it could easily lead to disaster - especially in the middle phase of the process when the potion was extremely unstable. A bit too much heat under the cauldron, a clockwise stirring instof aof an anti-clockwise, a little too much asphodel - and loo, the potion would explode quicker than Neville Longbottom could announce having a problem with his usual "oops".

The combination of just this potion and an obviously shattered potion master supervising it - Albus could hardly think of a worse situation or one which would need more care in dealing with. Even he couldn't hope to manage it with wandless magic, but he didn't want to frighten the students even more with presenting his wand. So he only pulled it out so far out of his sleeve so he could reach it quick before he rose his hand to lay it on his potion master's shoulder. Yet now Severus had noticed him. Raising his head as if he'd needed all his will power to get his eyes away from the spot on the wall, he tried a sneer, but only managed a grimace and his voice wasn't much more than a whisper as he said: "Headmaster - to what do we owe the honour of ..."

To Albus' horror he didn't finish, but suddenly closed his eyes, gripped on Albus' robe and sank down, his knees giving way. Albus managed to catch him and cradling the younger man's body against his own, feeling with worry that Severus' robe clung to his shivering frame. Over Severus' shoulder he bellowed to the horrified students: "Watch your potions! I take care of Professor Snape."

"Let me do that!" A crisp voice sounded through the room. The cavalry in form of Minerva McGonagall had arrived. Sweeping down the aisle, she pulled her wand out and conjured a stretcher, hovering next to Albus who still held the unconscious potion master in his arms, cautiously laying him down now on the stretcher. Then he allowed himself a sigh and a light stroke over the boy's face, ice-cold and trembling under his touch.

"Measles?" Minerva asked very quietly.

Albus nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"Poor boy." Minerva looked down on the potion master. "I'll get him to Poppy."

"Thanks!" Albus slipped out of his upper robe and covered Severus with it. He wanted very much to bring him to the hospital wing himself, but he knew that his chances of finishing the potion lesson without disaster were much bigger then Minerva's who certainly was an experienced and powerful witch, but even in young years not much of a potion brewer.

Turning around to the class, Albus took stock quickly. Hermione, partnered with Hufflepuff Ian McCormick, just stirred their brew with care, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. The mixture in her cauldron blubbered slightly in dark purple - just as it should be during this phase.

Ron and Harry, the team over the next cauldron, didn't look happy. Ron was very pale, his freckles a stark contrast against his white skin, his blue eyes was as big as saucers and his hands seemed to tremble. Harry, just stirring, looked a mess: His unruly black hair was sweaty, his tie crumpled, his grey sweater slipped, the white shirt hanging lose over his trousers. Yet his face showed concentration and his potion - though not so advanced as Hermione's - looked right.

On Harry's left were the Patil twins - Gryffindor Parvati and Ravenclaw Padma - working. They whispered together nervously, they looked a bit desperately at Albus, but their potion seemed to be doing well.

Next pair: Slytherin prefect Blaise Zabini with Ravenclaw's Cho Chang. They were pretty behind with Zabini still cutting roots while Cho Chang sat next to him, legs crossed and looking as if all the uproar in the class room only bored her. Her bad luck was that Albus saw the Egyptian beetles next to her - still like they had came out of the store. Knowing from his own experience, that even his always well-cut fingernails had suffered by smashing and powdering this beetles he looked at the girl's long, red nails and said calmly, but firm: "Miss Chang, I'm sure Mister Zabini would approve very much if you could bring yourself up to preparing the beetles."

Instead oe "ye "yes, sir" he'd expected Cho Chang batted her eye lids and complained: "But I am wearing nail polish!"

Zabini turned his eyes. Obviously he'd heard this argument before - and indeed: Mixing muggle- or magical nail polish in the potion certainly wouldn't improve it.

Albus tried his rarely used, but always nicely working Slytherin smile - the one from which Hermione said it would lead to thinking of an ice cube as a cosy place to seat on - and said: "Don't you worry, Miss Chang. I will take care of that." Waving one finger he removed not only the polish, but shortened her nails until they looked like a surgeon's.

But doing so had been a mistake as Albus learned the next second in hearing a sharp hiss. It came from the cauldron Draco Malfoy shared with his house mate Pansy Parkinson who jumped at the sound, looking absolutely horrified. Albus understood her. He didn't like the grey, bubbling, hissing liquid in the team's cauldron either. For being exact: He disliked it almost as much as he found the smirk on Malfoy's face infuriating. The brat obviously thought that a class with the potion master breaking down wasn't enough entertaining and tried to have fun with frightening his team partner. The problem by it only was, that he wasn't aware of his potion - and no, Albus actually didn't want to know what the little idiot had done exactly to mess it up like that - would explode in the next minute.

In the contrast to him Albusw - w - and besides he knew, that sealing the cauldron wouldn't solve the problem, not in this state. It was already too late for that. He had to get rid of the cauldron as quickly as possible and he was more then glad to have his wand at the ready. Pulling it out, he directed it at the potion, thundered "portus!" concentrated - and couldn't think of another place than the Slytherin's bath room in the dungeons, just around the corner from the potion class room. Around it was Slytherin dormitories, but Albus was sure: At this time of the day this department of the dungeons was deserted. Even the house elves cleaning the rooms where by now ready with it. So he transported the cauldron to the bathroom. It had hardly vanished when he heard already the ear deafening hollow noise of its explosion and the shattering of bricks, glass and tiles. The chandelier in the class room ringed, the desk Albus leaned on seemed to jump and he fiercely hoped that the after waves of the explosion wouldn't do damage to another potion.

Luck was with him - he only needed to stabilize the flames under two cauldrons, then he could smile at the terrified students. "That was tight. I hope it shows you why you have to watch your cauldrons." Walking to the door, opening it and looking down the hall, where dust still whirled, he said: "I wouldn't like blowing up more of the castle the walls are always sulking for weeks after explosions. So I'd be grateful if we could finish this lesson without further damage."

He was hardly back at the desk when the door opened and the care taker Filch stormed into the room. Obviously he couldn't see much through the fume of the cauldrons, but he didn't care about that and started to rant immediately: "That's an outrage! Some one just blew up the entire bathroom! I need your help, Professor Snape, for catching the culprit. He needs to be expelled ..."

"Argus ..." Albus interrupted.

The caretaker came closer, looking puzzled at his superior. "Headmaster?"

"The culprit was I," Albus said with a hint of amusement. "But I'll get you help for restoring the bathroom and cleaning up the dormitories - at least so much they can be used in the night. Mister Malfoy will lend you a hand and of course, a wand."

Draco Malfoy blushed - and looked as if he'd love to use his wand for hexing the headmaster back to the century heeen een born in. "That's an house elf's job!" he protested.

Albus didn't look at him. He pushed his wand back in his sleeve, plaited the fabric and tugged at his hem as if he couldn't think of something more important than getting it back to his perfect form. Then he raised his head, pulled once with his index finger at his spectacles so that he could look over the rim, directed his gaze on the pale young man and said calmly: "Isn't it a pity? All our house elves are just very busy in the kitchen. You know, we've this measles infection and with all the extra food and the laundry - no, I'm afraid we won't get a house elf for cleaning up the mess in the Slytherin rooms. Yet I'm convinced that your house mates would be most grateful if you could work a bit on it, Mister Malfoy." And smiling as nicely as a shark would at an especially fat herring, he proceeded: "It was your potion, wasn't it, Mister Malfoy? And as much as I dislike causing your ill head of house further distress - I'm afraid I must take 50 points from Slytherin. Besides I'd like to see you in my office when you're done with the cleaning, Mister Malfoy. Eight o' clock will be fine. You're dismissed."

At least Malfoy seemed to know when he'd lost. Without a further word he trotted out of the class room behind Filch, closing the door. Albus pushed his spectacles back on their regular place and smiled to the students. "Let's try to get the potion ready. Does anyone need my help?"

"Yes, sir," Harry stretched his arm. "If you could perhaps have a look?"

"Of course, Harry." Albus walked over to the desk Harry and Ron worked at. For a moment his gaze connected with Hermione's, but it wasn't only love and amusement about his show with Malfoy he saw in her eyes, but once again the slight provocation and firm determination she'd looked at him with all week long. She was - no, not cross at him, but even worrying about Severus - and he knew, she did worry almost as much as he himself - and working on a difficult potion she didn't give him a moment's chance to forget what she'd named "the score we'll have to settle" the other night.

For a moment Albus meant to hear Severus' deep, rumbling voice: "Bloody, pigheaded Gryffindors" and he almost smiled by thinking of it. The boy was right - sometimes Hermione was a bloody, pigheaded Gryffindor and her talent in trying Albus' patience was as remarkable as all her other talents. It was hardly 12 hours ago since she'd made him shout at her again - and even more: She had driven him to something he couldn't remember he'd ever done before with a wife. He'd named her an "infuriating, mad woman in dire need of a padded cell at St Mungos".

One couldn't say she'd taken this well. He'd got back not only the usual "arrogant, manipulative Slytherin", but a lesson about ruling neither the world nor his wife's wishes. For this he'd taken refuge on the sofa in his office voluntary - with Hermione telling him: "Sulking doesn't become you, Albus!"

Nevertheless she'd given him two hours to sulk and to try different spells for changing a sofa to a comfortable bed. As he'd just managed - not only the sofa, but a silencing spell for Phineas Nigellus who had managed to make Albus entirely flabbergasted by agreeing to what Albus named "Hermione's insanity" - Hermione had appeared, wearing once again the flimsy nightie he secretly had rechristened "the lioness' combat dress". Yet she stayed true to herself. She'd once decided not to use "a woman's weapons" on him and she really didn't. He'd know her "I hate arguing with you and I hate sleeping without you" had been genuine - she'd proven immediately after a long sweet kiss in saying: "I love you, Albus Dumbledore - even if you're a stubborn Slytherin MCP. But why don't you understand? It is all about loving you and I know you love me too and why can't I get it in this pig head of yours, that ..."

Being a Slytherin - male, chauvinistic, but in love with a certain insane Gryffindor and in need of rest - he'd saved himself a few hours of sleep in kissing her thoroughly, knowing that even Hermione couldn't argue with his tongue in her mouth. And with his tongue between her legs it was even better - then she didn't want to talk anymore. Yet for this he'd needed to get her back to the bedroom - he really wasn't keen on Phineas Nigellus commenting on his performance after the silencing charm had wore off. So once again his special Slytherin talents - especially his high development of doing two things at the same time - had been asked. At least Hermione had appreciated that: His kissing while doing in the same time a levitation charm to get her up the stairs and in their bed she'd found "pretty brilliant" . His further (and deeper in the southern region) kissing had finally gotten him a peacefully slumbering Hermione and even new hope. In the four weeks since New Year he'd managed to talk her out of marital "tit for tat" ideas. By now she really and truly believed him that she didn't have to pay back every climax he had given her in giving him one of his own. It had been hard work, but he'd succeeded in the end. Hermione believed now, that he enjoyed pleasing her no less than becoming pleasured himself. And even better: Only three nights before she'd stated, that to him an orgasm obviously was "the cream on top of the cherry which is on the rice pudding" - in concrete meaning: She'd lost her shyness in touching him even when both of them knew he wouldn't get hard enough for sleeping with her or coming.

Hermione had learned that he was in no way frustrated by that as long as he didn't have to fear that she would feel disappointed. And so he found himself sometimes smiling to himself, amused by the facts that 1. He liked being married and that 2. His love life at the age of 163 was more active and pleasing than in the 100 years before. Actually he could have been a very happy man - if only his wife wouldn't have developed this utterly insane idea. But he'd convinced her in matters of sex - he would sooner or later talk her out of that too. 

"Hermione?" A letter in his hand and reading it with his forehead wrinkled, Albus entered his wife's study. With deputizing for Severus thorough two double classes at the afternoon and a very nervous Percy Weasley already waiting afterwards in his office, he hadn't got a chance to talk with her since the potion class. He even hadn't got a chance for dinner because Weasley junior had once again floated him with a huge pile of papers and so much pompous explanations about their importance that Albus had needed two hours to get rid of the minister's over eager assistant.

Afterwards he'd seen that he had only five minutes left until Malfoy would appear in his office and although Albus was convinced that a little waiting would suit the young man just right, he simply couldn't afford to let Malfoy stewing as long as he actually would have wished to, because he wanted to see his potion master as soon as possible. Of course - Minerva had already informed him that "this unbearable, stubborn Slytherin" in fact suffered from measled thd that Poppy was optimistic for his chances to get over it soon, but even without being a healer Albus knew, that an adult suffered more than a child and even worse - Albus knew too, that his potion master, though incredibly disciplined and never showing any signs of weakness, was far from being a healthy man. He suffered from exhaustion, caused not only by his chronic insomnia, but from the tortures he'd gone through by Voldemort. So even the optimistic prognosis by Poppmfremfrey didn't relieve Albus much. He worried about Severus and he knew - although Severus would probably rather take another "crucio" from Voldemort than to admit it - that the boy waited for his appearance at his bedside. As much as the young man denied it to himself - Albus knew that he needed human contact as much - if not even more – than every other human being. And despite their many rows and their ever lasting arguments, despite how often they'd failed and disappointed each other - Severus was one of the most important persons in Albus' life while Albus was probably the only person Severus had ever dared to show his vulnerability. Their trust in each other was mutual and went far over all day arguments.

"Albus?" Hermione tugged softly at his sleeve. "Where are you?"

He shook his head and put the letter in his pocket. "Sorry, little lioness ..." He wanted to bend down kissing her cheek as he heard a clearing of a throat and an awkward:

"Good evening, Headmaster." It came from Harry and was followed by a "Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," by Ron. Both boys were wearing jeans, shirts and sneakers, their school robes hanging over Hermione's chair, in front of Hermione's sofa. The desk next to them was covered with open books, parchments, bottles, quills, tea mugs and an open box with chocolate, another open box with the famous all-flavoured beans and a thing which had been a butter beer bottle before somebody had tired to transfigure it to - Albus wasn't sure if it should have become a hour glass or the statue of a very well equipped woman. Knowing that the boys still felt very awkward whenever they meet him in private, he refrained from asking for the transformed object and he even didn't kiss Hermione. It was obviously hard enough for Ron and Harry to cope with a best friend married to their ancient headmaster and Albus didn't think that displays of marital affection would make it easier on them.

Yet it seemed that he'd once again underestimated his wife and her friends because Hermione stretched now on her tip toes, kissed his cheek and with her hand on his shoulder, brushing dust away probably only she had seen, she said: "Dear Albus - you look weary and you haven't had dinner, have you?"

"No, I haven't," he answered.

"And you don't have time for it yet?" Hermione knew him by now pretty well. "Then you should at least eat some chocolate ..." And without waiting for an answer, she turned to the table, broke a generous piece from the block and fed it to him.

Her glucking made the boys smile. Ron even grinned and said: "She's a bit bossy, this one ..."

Albus, his mouth full of chocolate, could only grin back - what made Hermione turn her eyes. "Heaven's sake, the three of you need it! Ron would never get ready with his homework withoe boe bossing him around, Harry probably would win an award for complicating even the simple things and you, my dear husband, would work yourself in a state of utter exhaustion once again. I really don't know what you three were to do without me!"

Albus grinned to Harry. Harry grinned to Ron. He grinned back to Albus and so, with the circle closed, Albus said very serious, but with his eyes twinkling: "We wouldn't know either, dear."

"Pff!" Hermione made a face and looked at the watch on the mantelpiece. "Flattery won't get you far, Albus. Besides: It's just one minute to eight. Don't you have an appointment with Mister Malfoy?"

Albus bent over the table, took the tea mug with the inscription "Hermione", drank and shook himself. "Brrr - your tea tastes like the stuff Professor Snape cleans his cauldrons with."

"Not all of us like swmilkmilk with a drop of tea in it, Albus." Hermione took the mug out of his hand and drank the last sip from it herself. Her gaze went back to the watch and then to Albus.

He sighed. "Do you want to get rid off me, Hermione?"

"Yes, actually, I want to." Hermione softened her words with a smile and another kiss on his cheek. "We have homework to do. You know, we've learned today from our DADA teacher that we'll get lessons about legimency and occlumenency next week - by a certain Professor Albus Dumbledore. It's said he's pretty brilliant and a strict disciplinarian, only he's sometimes a bit unpunctual. In any case: We don't want to blame ourselves in front of him. Therefore we'll have to work hard ..."

"Oh yes, oh yes." Albus looked ar ovr over the rims of his spectacles, once again amazed how she could brighten his mood with only a smile. "I've heard, the old crackpot is a real slave driver ..."

Hermione raised an eyebrow - and only whispered: "Sofa, Albus!" She still hated him to remind her of his age.

He smiled apologizing, and then he became serious again. "Hermione, after my talk with Mister Malfoy I will see Professor Snape. Madame Pomfrey says, he's a bit better already and she even released to to his quarters. Perhaps he's up for a little game of chess. So don't wait for me. I may be late ..." Bowing his head to the boys, he added: "Ronald, Harry, don't let this bossy wife of mine work you too hard. And if you need something, just ring Woopy. She'll be happy to serve you."

The boys bid him their farewells; he turned around and was already almost through the door as he felt Hermione's hand on his arm. "I'll see you down," she said.

Albus smiled. He didn't want to ask her in front of her friends, but a little private moment with her, even if it wasn't more than a quick embrace on the stairs to his office, was just what he had wished for. So he took her hand, led her through the ante chamber to the staind wnd walking down one step he used the advantage of being now on the same eye level with her for hugging and kissing her. Hermione answered to his kiss, but broke hers quicker than Albus wanted. Combing his hair with spread fingers, she said: "I missed you, Albus - and I wanted to tell you that I was very proud of you this morning. Ron just said before that you were 'bloody brilliant'. I think he's right."

"You were bloody brilliant, my love. Sending me the ring was a strike of genius," he praised her.

"What could I have done otherwise? I thought about lying about feeling sick and running to you then, but with that potion and Severus looking as he'd break down every minute ..." Hermione looked in his eyes. "Albus ..." She chewed on her under lip. "About the ring ..."

"Oh yes - sorry ..." The ring was still on his finger. He pulled it up and gave it to her. "I forgot ..."

Hermione pushed the ring back on her finger and looked at it. "You're still not much use with being a married man, Albus," she stated qly.  
ly.

He once again cursed himself. Didn't he know how much the ring meant to her? Couldn't he have spared one one minute it would have needed to get it back to her? "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said again. "Sometimes I'm an idiot."

"Don't belittle what I love, Albus," she smiled, but her eyes were still sad. "The ring is not so important."

"But you are important." He wanted to take her in his arms again, but she slipped away.

"Am I really, Albus? Then you should perhaps think again about what I want ..."

He cringed. She had once again managed to get right through him and he became once again aware that she would never give up. She - 18 year old Hermione Granger, the petite brunette with the sweet mouth and the even sweeter brown eyes, was his match. "Hermione ..." He knew, hendednded lame and he knew even better that the stairs over his office - the office in which Malfoy was by now probably boiling like his wrong potion - was not a good place for the next round of their marital battle. But he'd learned that ignoring her only made matters worse.

It was her who stopped it this time. Stroking his cheek, she said: "Later, Albus. Go and see Malfoy, before he explodes in your office. And - give Severus my regards, will you?"

Malfoy really was at his boiling point as Albus finally came down the steps from the gallery. Looking still a bit dishevelled after his afternoon with Filch, the pale young man paced nervously through the room, again and again wandering to the clock on the mantelpiece and tipping against it as if he could make it run faster. Hearing the rustle of Albus' robe he turned around, his grey eyes blazing: "I was supposed to see you at eight o' clock, Professor ..."

Albus sat down behind his desk and folded his long hands. "Good evening to you too, Mister Malfoy," he said calmly. "Would you care to seat down?"

Malfoy obviously didn't. "I d thi think this is going to be a polite conversation," he sulked.

Albus still smiled. "It depends on you, Mister Malfoy. I'd actually like us talking politely."

"About what?" the boy shouted. "Me doing house elf's work? You know ..." Malfoy came over to the desk, bracing his hands on it and almost spitting his next words in Albus' face, "... times will change and my father certainly won't like to learn that his son and heir is treated by you like a dirty house elf."

Albus didn't move. He even didn't stop his smiling. He only asked: "Was that a threat, Mister Malfoy?"

"What would you do then? Expel me?" the boy asked loudly.

Albus shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Dislike of the headmaster isn't a reason to expel a pupil."

His cess ess seemed to make the young man even more furious. "And what's with disrespect? Would that make you expel me?"

"No, Mister Malfoy, it wouldn't. I'm not in the habit of deciding only on the base of rather personal feelings. So I suggest you stop wasting our time with your rather pathetic attempts at provoking me." Now Albus' became sharp and cold. "Seat down, Mister Malfoy!"

It worked. Malfoy sat hesitantly and still sulking down on the chair in front of the desk. Yet he wasn't entirely ready with provocations. Looking up to Albus, he grumbled: "I know it's all about your mu ..." Albus was sure, the boy wanted to say "mudblood" and became furious. Obviously his eyes showed it, because Malfoy changed direction in mid word. "...ggleborn wife," he finished.

Albus breathed deeply. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if Malfoy would have insulted Hermione. But he was glad it hadn't happened. Although he'd never managed to like the boy: Draco Malfoy was a Hogwarts student, a pupil in Albus' care and as such he could expect no less protection and advice than his more loved mates. And perhaps, Albus thought, the young man even needed more of it because he was walking on a thin rope. Knowing the elder Malfoy, Albus was well aware that Draco had never stood much of a chance to develop a personality of his own. To his father he was like a piece of Malfoy possession, a piece which had to work as was expected of it. Succeeding in this task - whatever it meant exactly - would earn him neither praise nor love, but failing would certainly lead his father to make his son's life even more of a hell than it already was. Considering that, Albus swallowed the rather sharp answer he'd had already on his tongue, leaned back in his chair and said: "Draco ..."

His use of the given name made the young man tense. He looked suspiciously at the headmaster, his eyes suddenly full of fear.

Albus suppressed a sigh. He remembered another winter night, almost 20 years ago. Another young man - not blond, but with black hair and the darkest eyes Albus knew, had sat just in the chair Draco sat now in. And like Draco he'd been suspicious and provoking. Albus remembered how hard he'd tried to break through the walls the dark young man had built around himself - and how miserable he'd felt as the boy had left. He'd gone straight to the dark lord, he'd taken his mark and he'd even seen to Albus learning about it only the other morning. It had hurt Albus - soh thh that he'd needed a severe dressing down by Minerva for not giving up his position. Yet what in the end had really helped him through the next two years hadn't been Minerva's stern reminders of "one has to do one's duty even if it's sometimes hard", but the last thing she'd said in that night. Standing already on the threshold, she'd turned again and quietly spoken: "If he didn't care for you, he wouldn't have wanted to hurt you, Albus. You disappointed him once - but you only could because you mean something to him. Now he proved: You still do."

23 months later - in a winter night again - Albus had sat at his desk, working on some papers as Fawkes suddenly had chirped and had disappeared in a golden flame. Only a few minutes later he'd been back, with a tiny, dirty piece of parchment in his beak. It had been a slice from a menu - on this side the inscription "The Saucy Sorcerer" was just readable. The capital "S" was marked so lightly that a less attentive person as Albus certainly wouldn't have noticed. But Albus actually wouldn't have needed the "SS". The one, obviously hasty written line on the back of the parchment told him everything he had to know. It had read: "Ariel will finally be free soon ..."

Albus had by then knew only one wizard who shared his love of the muggle poet Shakespeare - and this one, special wizard had only 23 months before refused Albus' offer to become his apprentice with referring to Shakespeare: "Ariel wants his freedom, Prospero."

Albus had known: His Ariel wouldn't find it where he hoped for. Now he'd obviously learned too - probably painful and hard had learned.

In this night Albus had probably even broken Fawkes' record in flying from the main tower to Hogsmeade. Landing on the dark and dirty backyard of the brothel he'd changed back to his human from and then he'd heard a tired voice: "If I didn't feel so sick already, your ever lasting optimism would surely make me vomit. Why did you come, Headmaster? Do you really believe you could still save me?"

"Didn't you call me to become saved?" Albus had asked.

"It was not a call, headmaster. It only wastatstatement. Courtesy demands one says farewell to one's former master, doesn't it?" had the voice from the dark asked.

Albus had set everything on one card then. Pulling out his wand, he'd commanded "lumos", directing the light against Severus and saying coldly: "So - that's how a coward looks. Running away to become free - how silly and pathetic, boy. I thought higher of you."

It had worked. The deadly pale, bruised face had blushed; the blank eyes had suddenly glittered again. "Actually it's a pity I'm not to live up to your age, Headmaster," he'd spat out. "Perhaps I'd then comprehend why people think you omniscient though you so often fail when it comes to judge people. You were wrong with Black, you were wrong with Lupin and you're wrong with I'm I'm not going to run away, just on the contrary - I'm to going myself to confess at the ministry. Afterwards I'll go to Azkaban and will be given the dementor's kiss though I don't think the dementors will like kissing me much. There's not much in my soul they can feed on ..."

"Oh?" Albus had raised an eyebrow. "The last of the Snapes as a tragic hero. Great idea. If only I knew what purpose it would serve. I mean, as a soulless shelf you can hardly enjoy the applause it will perhaps earn you. Even freedom is probably too abstract a word for a body rotting in Azkaban. You know, you just remind me of the little boy who ran out of the house bare footed on a winter day, shouting 'Mummy will feel so miserable when I freeze my feet off!"

Severus had looked as if he'd attack Albus the next second. "So much for Albus Dumbledore, the Slytherin with the golden heart," he'd said then. "I almost could like you as a cynic."

"Only I couldn't like you asoulsoulless body anymore," Albus had given back. "Why, Severus? Just tell me, why ..."

And then the boy had broken down. On the top of his lungs he'd shouted: "Because possessing a fucking soul only hurts! That's why! And if you can't understand it, then you're probably the one who never had a soul!"

As he'd sunk down on the dirty pavement, Albus had caught him in his arms - and there, on the stinking backyard of a brothel, Albus and Severus had made their peace with each other and founded the friendship this had become so important to both of them.

And hadn't it worked? Severus was alive and he'd survive the war and he'd learn to live in peace and one day - Albus was sure about - he'd even make peace with himself. And if Severus could have been rescued - didn't he at least own an attempt to Draco Malfoy too? He surely wasn't to become a second Severus - for this he lacked the courage and the brilliance of the potion master. But he mustn't become a weaker version of his father. 

It never failed to touch Albus deeply how vulnerable Severus looked in his sleep. He couldn't count how often he'd come on the boy's bedside, watching how his sallow face got colour and how the hard edges in it relaxed. Years ago, in one of the first nights after Severus had come back injured from a death eater gathering, Albus had been away too and therefore reached Severus' side long after Poppy had fed him one of his own dreamless sleep potions. Thinking that Severus wouldn't feel it in the deep sleep the potion actually should have provided him with, Albus had laid his warm hand against Severus' always cold forehead and had stroke a strand of the silken hair away. Yet the boy had noticed it. Without really awakening, he'd whispered "Albus" and it had sounded like a terrified child saying "Daddy" while at least feeling secure in its father's presence again.

Learning later that Severus hated it to be watched in his sleep, Albus had made it a habit of waking him by just laying his hand against the boy's forehead. He'd never got the heartbreaking sigh again, but mostly he was rewarded with one of the smiles Severus was so mean with.

Seating down on the high backed chair next to Severus' bed, Albus bent forward and laid his hand on the potion master's forehead. Severus, who'd obviously only dozed, reacted immediately. The corners of his mouth twitched - so slight, that Albus sensed it more than he really saw it - and he opened his eyes. Yawning he twinkled in the light of the candle on his night stand, then he said, his voice not as silken as usual, but creaky from the infection in his throat: "Are you for today finished with blowing up the castle and messing around with my classes, Albus?"

Albus took his hand away, laid it in his lap and leaned back. Crossing his legs, he asked: "How do you feel, child?"

Severus was well enough to turn his eyes, sighing: "Albus!"

"Hmm?" Albus only made.

"Frankly said: I feel lousy," Severus said. "Ridiculous, pathetic, miserable ..."

"I can imagine," Albus answered. "I only don't know what hurts more: Your throat, your head or your pride?"

"I'm afraid, it's my pride," Severus shifted in bed, pushing his pillow behind his head.

"May I help you?" Albus offered.

"No, you may not. I'm not that sick. I've only got measles," Severus sneered. "And I warn you: If you dare to laugh at me, I'll get myself up to hex you."

"I won't laugh at you," Albus assured him.

"Oh yes - you've had your fun today already." Severus crossed his arms over his chest - only the gesture wasn't very effectual with him wearing a crumpled nightshirt. "I've also wondered all day how you've managed to appear like the deus ex machina in my classroom. You're not really becoming omniscient in your old age, are you?"

Albus smiled. "I'm not, Severus. But I've got myself a brilliant wife ..."

"Hermione made you come down?" Severus was amazed." How?" he demanded to know, his forehead wrinkled. "She didn't leave the room and I'd noticed if she'd used the floo - wouldn't I?"

"You would, I think." Albus had found a little bag with a few lemon drops in one of his pockets and put one in his mouth. "Lemon drop, Severus?" he then offered his potion master the bag.

"Thank you very much, Headmaster. I'd actually rather gurgle with hydrochloric acid," Severus answered sarcastic.

"You know, a few of your students are convinced you do so every morning ..." Albus sucked on his lemon drop, feeling a bit less weary by it.

"Albus!" Severus shook his head. "You're really maddening. Would you please - pretty please - tell me how your dear wife informed you?"

"She let her ring fall down," Albus said. "You know she wears an enchanted marriage ring. When she throws it away, it comes automatically to me."

"I know," Severus turned once again his eyes. "I feel flattered. Considered she's the sentimental Gryffindor and so sickeningly in love with you she always gets puppy eyes when looking at this ring - and I'm actually glad she doesn't do it more then only 28 times in one hour - one should think that throwing the thing away was a sacrifice."

Albus tried to show a neutral face though he felt a pang of guilt by thin of of Hermione and her ring. He didn't want to speak about it, so he tried to change the subject. "By the way: I saw Mister Malfoy before I came to you."

Severus' black eyes watched him closely, but to Albus' relief he took up the new subject. "Which member of this exceptional nice family do you mean? My good old friend Lucius or his enchanting offspring?"

"The last. The first I'll meet tomorrow. He invited me to a 'private dinner' in his mansion."  
Severus sat up abruptly. "You won't go, will you?"

"Of course I'll go." Albus took another lemon drop. "You know as well as I do: If we can make him change sides, we're a big step ahead."

Severus would probably have shouted, but his sore throat didn't allow him more than a whisper: "And by losing you we would be lost! You know, Malfoy is the dark lord's right hand and even with his master in hiding, Malfoy is as dangerous as a snake after half a year on a yoghurt diet."

"Severus," Albus said calmly. "Malfoy is without doubt a force to be reckoned with and I don't underestimate how dangerous he is. But he isn't an idiot. Even if Fudge would probably celebrate my premature demise with a champagne party - he could hardly do so in public." Albus smiled. "You know, my intuition tells me that Malfoy senior is - at least in the moment - not interested in killing me. I'd say, I'm alive more useful to him, especially when he really wants to change sides." Severus moved a bit deeper under his blanket and closed his eyes. Albus waited patiently, sucking on his lemon drop. After almost one minute he asked mildly: "Are you tired, child? You're still unwell, you need rest."

"I'm thinking, Albus - and please, don't call me 'child'. You know, I hate it when you do that," Severus answered with still closed eyes. Opening them again, he said: "You could be right about Lucius. He wants nothing more then power and in the moment it's you who keeps it. You've won the marriage round against him and you were the winner in the last encounters with the dark lord. Lucius isn't one to stay faithful on a loser's side, so ..." He plaited his hair and nodded. "You've got a chance with him, Albus. Nevertheless I'd feel better if you wouldn't go to him on your own. Why don't you take your wife with you?"

"What?" Albus almost choked on his lemon drop. "Is your fever increasing, Severus?"

"No, it is not," Severus gave back coldly. "My head is absolutely clear - and I meant it, Albus: You should take Hermione with you."

"My 18 year old wife as my bodyguard?" Albus shook his head.

"At least you don't refer to her as a 'mere child' anymore," Severus stated and rose a bit. "Albus, you actually know it yourself: Without Hermione your precious Potter wouldn't have survived his first year. The girl isn't only able to defend herself; she could probably hex you, me and Lucius at once into the middle of the next week without stopping to talk about by it."

"I don't doubt it, but I won't take her with me," Albus said - and knowing, that Severus was no less pigheaded than Hermione, decided to offer something else. "What do you think about Lord William as my bodyguard? He wouldn't show himself to Lucius, but he could watch ..."

"Hmm," Severus made. "At least it's better than you going on your own."

By now Albus felt a bit insulted. Looking to his potion master over the rim of his spectacles he said: "You know, Severus, I'm not the weak old fool Malfoy junior sees me as."

"Malfoy junior is an idiot," Severus stated coolly. "Which reminds me: You attempted to talk sense to him - it failed, didn't it?"

Albus sighed. "One can't say yet. In the moment he certainly doesn't want to consider. He thinks he can deal with Riddle ..."

"That's what I mean when I name him an idiot," Severus said. "No one can deal with the dark lord. Master Malfoy will learn that soon enough. Perhaps he'd crawl then back to you, Albus ..." He didn't finish, but only looked at his friend and superior.

Albus got himself another lemon drop. Thoughtfully sucking on it, he said: "We'll see ..."

A few moments both men were silent. Severus tugged at his night shirt, closed a button on it and opened it again scratching his chest.

"Itchy?" Albus asked with sympathy.

"Bloody!" Severus made a face. "And Poppy gave me such a nice prognosis for the next days. Tomorrow I'll probably look like a pimpled teenager ..."

"Shall I get you some anti itching gel?" Albus offered. "I was once pretty good in brewing it ..."

"Thank you very much, but if y rey remind you: I'm a potion master myself. And thanks to your wife and her work our stocks are well filled. Oh and by talking about your wife ..."

Severus sounded casual, but Albus, knowing his potion master well, felt especially alarmed by his almost bored tone and his half-closed eyes. And wasn't it typical for Severus to let the sentence hang unfinished, watching through his eye lashes how Albus would react? Albus would have bet his favourite woollen socks - Christmas gift by Harry and really wonderful warm - for Severus just preparing a nice little bomb for explosion. He even was pretty sure to know what the bomb contained. He only wondered: How the heck the boy knew about? Of course - Hermione and Severus had found an understanding; they even developed something like a friendship. Nevertheless Albus couldn't imagine she'd talked with Severus about their marital battle and the reason for it. Albus had in the last days sometimes considered if he should talk with Severus about it - he actually was in use with the potion master as his confident even for personal problems - but he hadn't done because it seemed unfair against Hermione. Severus - and for that Albus would have added his entire stock of lemon drops to the socks - was probably the very last person who'd understand Hermione in this and compared to what he would have to say about, Albus accusations of her being insane would sound soft. So Albus braced himself for defending Hermione in a point he absolutely didn't agree with her. But she was - right or wrong, in good times and bad times, in mutual bliss and in the middle of a battle - his wife and the woman he loved. To Albus Dumbledore this mean, that nobody - not even his best friend and almost son Severus Snape - would get a chance to insult her in front of him.

So he breathed deeply, looked at his friend and said his voice firm and sharp enough to be a warning: "What's about Hermione?"

Severus still didn't open his eyes totally. Scratching his right forearm, he said: "She seems to develop a new project - a very peculiar one, if you ask me. Just the other day I was in the library and as I mentioned to Madame Pince that I'm in a hurry because your wife would wait for me in the lab, she asked me if I could give Hermione a book she ordered. It was one we don't have in the library, but as you know Madame Pince sets her mind to getting us every book out of the ministry's or St. Mungos or Oxford's library. This one for your wife came from St. Mungos and it's called 'Basics and advanced recipes for fertility potions'."

Albus wasn't optimistic enough to hope he could escape his potion master, but he was on the other hand Slytherin enough not to give up before he really was defeated. So he put another lemon drop in his mouth and said lightly: "Sounds like an interesting reading."

"Of course." Severus had his eyes open now. "Oh, Albus - could you perhaps open the window and put this pig out? You know, I don't like the beasts flying around in my bedchamber." His voice dripped with sarcasm. Crossing his arms behind his head, he stretched his long legs under the blanket and said: "I hope I'm not becoming the godfather. Potter would never forgive me if I were to take that honour away from him. Yet I may call Molly - she surely can teach me to knit little jumpers. I'm only not sure about the colour. You know, I'm rather fond of our green, but for this child it's probably Gryffindor red."

Even Albus' patience had limits and it had been tried enough over the last days. He cracked his lemon drop in biting just through it and said with his best headmaster's voice: "It's enough, Severus. I don't intend to sire a child."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Considering that your wife obviously wants to get one ..." Once again he let the line hang, enjoying how Albus' eyes became small. "I'll call Molly."

Albus swallowed the last piece of his lemon drop and tried a smile, feeling himself how weary it was. "Dear Severus - I don't have to tell you the tale from the bee and the flower? You know already, that it needs two people to make a baby ..."

Severus seemed to amuse himself immensely. "I've always admired your talent to deal with the inevitable, Albus. To see you lose it would be very sad indeed. Yet I don't think you'll do. A few days and you'll resign in your fate ..."

"I will not!" Albus disagreed firmly. "Severus, I won't deny any longer that I've fallen in love with my wife - as hilarious as this may seem at a man my age. But even so - I will not agree to this insanity of hers." He rose up and began to pace through the room. "I married her because I wanted to give her the future she deserves - an education, a career of her own, challenges, experiences. I won't contradict all my beliefs in her and her talent in helping her to throw away her future for a silly idea. She's 18 - that means she's got at least 40 years more to find herself a nice, young wi ..."

"Oh please, Albus!" Severus broke in, his voice despite the hoarseness like a whip. "The famous nice young wizard with the wish for a nice, young wife to have a nice, big family with is as high on Hermione's wish list as a nice, young witch and a nice, little cottage with a nice, little garden is on mine! Hermione isn't to marry a mediocre bore who sees her as his broodmare and she certainly is not to become a second Molly Weasley."

"That's just why I don't want herbecobecome pregnant at the age of 18," Albus shouted.

"You're a bit inconsequent, Albus, aren't you?" Severus sounded still amused. "First you want the nice young wizard for her. Then you don't want her to become a second Molly ..."

"Pl, Se, Severus!" Albus came back to the chair. "I want her to get an education and her career and the nice young wizard and children - but just in this order."

"Ah," Severus nodded. Looking innocently, he asked: "And why can'e hae have a child and then the education and the career and - if she wants to - a nice wizard? I mean, she's your wife and you're not to leave her back a poor widow. She'll inherit a mansion, a staff of house elves and enough money to pay for three nannies if she wants to. So why shouldn't she get a baby?"

Albus couldn't believe his ears. "Severus, forgive me, but are you sure your fever isn't increased? You are - if I may remind you - the one who made sure he'd never father a child. And you expect me to sire one? Now? I've always thought you don't like children."

"That's not about me, Albus," Severus answered quietly. "That's about you - and you like children. Besides: When I think about all the little dunderheads I had to teach over the last years - the poor excuses of wizards and witches like Goyles, Notts, Parkinson and the Malfoy brood - then I start to worry about our community's future. A child from Hermione and you - it certainly wouldn't be another idiot."

"But it would become a fatherless child!" Albus said tired. "Call me old-fashioned and sentimental, Severus, but I believe a child should have two parents, mother and father. I don't doubt Hermione wouldableable - even in her young age - to bring up a child on her own, but why should she do it the complicate way if a few years of waiting would get her a chance to have a real family?"

"Or not - as the case may be," Severus said. "Hermione could easily find herself in the same situation as Minerva one day. Minerva was sensible: She got her education and her career first. Then she found herself the nice wizard, married him, but couldn't get a child anymore. End of story."

Albus sunk his head. "I'd never thought you would agree with Hermione about that," he said quietly.

"It's still not about me, Albus," Severus sighed.

"No. It's about Hermione ..." Albus almost whispered. "I want her to live a happy life. When this war is over, she shall have a chance to get everything she ever wanted ..."

"Then it's settled." Severus laid back. "Do you need a fertility potion, Albus?"

"You don't understand, Severus," Albus sounded desperate. "I don't want her to carry ballast ..."

Severus sighed again. "Albus, I'm afraid it's you who doesn't understand. The girl loves you. I don't know why and in the moment I even doubt you deserve it. But it's a fact: Hermione Granger loves you. She loves you, but she has to accept that she'll lose you rather soon. Even I can understand that she wants at least a child from you."

"As a surrogate for me?" Albus shook his head. "I don't think ..."

Once again Severus interrupted him. "Merlin's balls, Albus! Don't behave like an idiot! Thickness doesn't become you. Of course Hermione doesn't want a child as a surrogate for you. But she wants to keep at least a part of your love for the future without you." He shuddered. "Brrr - I can't believe you made me say that" Even if I bloody meant it - I hate it when you make me sound like Uncle Severus advising the lovesick!"

For the first time in the last hour Albus smiled. "I actually like it. It shows you got a heart ..."

"Out, Headmaster!" Severus pointed to the door. "Go to get your wife pregnant before the idea how I'm to suffer with a child from her and you make me cry!"


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Though this be madness, yet there is method in't

"Hermione?" called Albus Dumbledore. He was all business, coming up the stairs in a light blue velvet robe, matching the sky on this cold, but friendly afternoon in March, reading a letter by it. Now he tugged it in the hem of his sleeve and asked "Are you unwell again, poor darling?" while he stepped through the mirror in the bedroom where he jumped, stammered "I'm sorry" and turned to the wall.

Hermione, pushing the strap of Ginny's bra under the neck holder of the robe she'd lend her girlfriend, laughed. "You can turn again, Albus. Ginny's quite presentable."

Ginny Weasley, tugging on the rather generous cleavage of the robe, smiled and said a bit shyly: "Good afternoon, Headmaster. I'm just ready and going ..."

"You won't!" Hermione contradicted her promptly. "We're not ready yet - and as I know my husband he's already in a hurry again ..."

"Hermione is right as mostly," Albus had turned and smiled at Ginny. "Only I'd say you lock more then presentable, but ravishing."

"Thank you, Headmaster." Ginny blushed a bit. "Hermione was so nice to offer me one of her robes for the party Saturday - and I look forward to it." She made a little turn so that the long skirt of the robe was whirling around her legs.

Albus laid his hand on Hermione's back. "You see? Virginia likes my idea."

Hermione stretched on her tip toes and kissed his cheek. "Ask her again after the party, Albus. I'll make her wear the high heels she punished me with last time."

Albus looked at her over the rim of his spectacles. "You won't wear high hells, will you?"

Hermione smiled and brushed a hair from the collar of his robe. "That depends on you, dear. If you promise to dance with me at least three times, I'll wear sensible shoes. If not, I'll have to dance with Severus - and he likes women looking in his eyes during dancing."

"This I didn't know," Alsmilsmiled.

"That comes from never dancing with him," said Hermione seriously, but with a twinkle in her eyes which almost matched his.

"I think I'd rather ask Miss Weasley for a dance on Saturday," Albus laughed. "Or must I ask Harry for permission first?"

Ginny blushed again. "No, sir, I don't think so," she said. "And I'd like to dance with you."

"Chauvinist!" Hermione was blunter. "When will you learn that modern women don't need their men's permission for a dance?"

"I'm working on it, Hermione." Albus pulled his wizard's watch out, looked at it and sighed. "I have to go - and I'm afraid I'll be late again." Looking seriously in Hermione's eyes, he added: "You'll look after yourself, won't you? Don't eat a sandwich over your books, but go down for dinner - and don't study all night! I want to find you in bed and asleep when I'll come back."

"But Albus!" Hermione protested. "I don't have time for dinner in the hall. It's only six weeks until I have to do my NEWTs and ..."

"You could have done them the year before," he interrupted her energetic. "So it's dinner in the hall and early sleep." He gently stroked her cheek and turned to Ginny who'd busied herself with cuddling Hermione's cat Crookshanks, laying in his cradle at the foot of the bed. "Miss Weasley, I trust you support me in looking after Hermione?"

"Of course, Headmaster," Ginny answered promptly. "I'll get her to dinner with me."

"That's a good girl!" Albus praised her, kissing Hermione on the tip of her nose before he turned to the door. "Have a nice evening!"

"Take care, Albus!" Hermione called after him and sat down on the bed. After the wall had closed, she sighed. "He's sometimes a bit overprotective."

Ginny rose, brushed Crookshanks' hair from her shirt and sat hesitantly down on the bed too. "I find him actually quite sw Her Hermione," she said. "It's cute how he can't...," she giggled a bit awkwardly, "... Resist touching you. Even Harry noticed - he told me the other day it was nice how the headmaster in the DADA class laid a hand on your shoulder - obviously without thinking about. As he saw Harry looking at him, he took the hand away and blushed."

"Poor Albus." Hermione smiled. "He's still not used being a husband ..."

"I would have never thought it before, but ..." Ginny said quietly, "... sometimes I almost envy you a bit. Harry is sweet and I really love him and I think he loves me too ..."

"He does," Hermione interrupted. "Believe me - he does."

"Yes, I know." Ginny smiled a bit sad. "But he's a boy and that means he loves not only me, but quidditch and playing chess with Ron and talking quidditch with the other boys and ..."

"Albus spends all day with me," Hermione turned her eyes. "Except when he's away at the ministry, the wizengamot, the international wizard's conference, the aurors academy, busy with the order or the school, teaching classes, writing letters or talking to people. Ginny, I'm pretty sure: You spend more time with Harry than I with Albus. The last three days I've hardly seen him except when he came back from a meeting in the middle of the night. And four days ago I woke up at two in the morning and Albus wasn't there. I was so worried I went to his office to ask the portraits if they knew where he is. Only I didn't need to because he was still at his desk."

"Oh," said Ginny. "I didn't know he's so busy ..."

"I could persuade him to come to bed with me," Hermione smiled. "And he broke me up - he has such a nice way of doing it. He uses a light levitation charm ..."

Ginny grinned. "Tell me more."

"There wasn't much more," Hermione sighed. "The last we would have had time for 'more' was on Sunday in the morning - and then I wasn't in the mood for it."

Ginny laid her head to the side and looked seriously at her girlfriend. "Have you been unwell, Hermione?"

Hermione only nodded, rose up and went to her bathroom with the big wardrobe. "We should get you a pair of nice shoes ..."

Ginny followed her, laying a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Hermione," she said seriously, "please, don't try to distract me. I'm your friend and I am worried about you. You're not well - it's obvious."

"No!" Hermione protested. "I'm fine. It was only on Sunday that I felt a bid odd ..."

"And what was yesterday?" Ginny asked. "By dinner you ate only a little slice of breed and soup because you didn't feel well, as you said. The day before Snape dismissed you from his class because you looked - to quote Ron - as if you'd start vomiting in the cauldron every minute. And it was before you started to brew a stinking potion! Today your husband comes in with the question, if you're unwell again ..." Ginny took her friend by both her upper arms and turned her to face her. "Hermione - what's the matter with you?"

Hermione looked at her feet, and then she sighed. "Ginny, promise me: You won't tell anyone - not Harry, not Ron, not your parents. Not yet ..."

Ginny swallowed and with eyes as big as saucers. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, Ginny," Hermione confirmed. "I'm in the fourth week of pregnancy. But I've read in this state women often lose the babies and therefore I don't want to talk about it. Except Albus and Madame Pomfrey only Professor Snape and McGonagall know. Albus insisted they have to for sparing me dangerous lessons."

Ginny still had huge eyes. "I can't believe it!" she cried. "I mean I know this idiotic marriage law wants us to get babies as soon and as much as possible. But I thought if somebody would find a loophole, then it would be the headmaster and you ..."

Hermione went back to the bed and sat down. "Ginny," she said quietly, "I can't explain all my reasons to you, but I want you to know something ..." She laid a protective gesture her hand over her flat belly. "This baby is not an accident. I wanted to become pregnant and I fought for it ..." Suddenly she began to cry, laying down on the bed and hiding her face in the pillows.

Ginny ran to the bed and embraced her friend. "Hermione, forgive me - I'm an idiot. I was only surprised, you know. I never thought you would be the first of us getting a baby."

Hermione sniffled. "Sorry - it's these bloody hormones! I'm always crying for nothing. It drives me mad!" She started to cry again, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "One thing I can tell you already, Ginny: Pregnancy isn't a bundle of laughs. I don't know how your mother managed, but I feel like a roller coaster. One moment I'm so happy I could sing and then I want to tell the entire world and to celebrate and have a party. The next moment I think I must have been crazy to start this and Albus was right as he named it 'this insanity of yours'. And then I worry about the baby and if it is healthy and feels well in my womb and I talk with him and the next moment I find myself running to the bathroom because I'm going to be sick again and my breasts feel like balloons with excess pressure and the idea of some one touching them makes me want to dismember all men, starting with Albus. And you know, what's the worse thing about it?"

Ginny, stroking Hermione's arm shook her head. "Tell me, darling," she said.

"On Sunday in the morning as Albus was here and we would have had time for each other, I was first sick and then in the 'don't ever touch me again' mood. I was worse then Snape on a real bad day and although Albus is probably the most patient human being I ever met I made him finally take refuge in his office," Hermione told, crying again.

"He survived and obviously he isn't cross with you," Ginny comforted her.

"He isn't, but I could have bitten myself in the butt because in the afternoon as we were to watch the quidditch match I felt like jumping on him!"

Ginny giggled. "You did tell him, didn't you?"

"How do you know?" Hermione blushed.

Ginny lay down next to her, fidgeting with amusement. "I saw it. You know, I like playing quidditch, but watching it - especially Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw - is pretty boring. One can't entertain oneself all the time with hoping that Cho Chang falls on her fat arse. So I watched the headmaster and you. You tugged at his sleeve, he bent his head to you, you whispered something in his ear - and he suddenly looked like he looks when we have something especially nice for dessert - like rice-pudding."

Hermione almost broke down with laughter. "Rice pudding with a cherry on top. And cream!" She couldn't stop laughing. "Sorry, Ginny ..."

"Hmm?" Ginny grinned, but couldn't share Hermione's amusement.

Hermione wiped tears from her cheek. "It's a private joke between Albus and me. I told him once; I'd see our marriage as a very delicious rice-pudding. And sex would be the cherry on top." Laughing again, she proceeded: "Sex with an orgasm for all parties involved - that's the cream on the cherry."

"Cream indeed!" Ginny giggled.

"Virginia Weasley! Your mother would be so shocked!" Hermione laid once again her hand on her belly. "Besides: Think of the little one! She's much too young to hear such language!"

"Considering that she's the headmaster's offspring, she surely will love cream." Ginny tried to look innocent. "I mean, he's very fond of sweets, isn't he? Oh, by the way: Why do we talk about her? It could be a boy also ..."

"No." Hermione shook her head. "I'm sure it's a girl. A strong, clever Gryffindor lioness."

"Roar!" made Ginny. "And what, if you're wrong and it's a sneering, but sexy Slytherin?"

Hermione giggled. "Then I'll buy him black rompers with 48 buttons on it, put him in a cradle and depose him on Snape's threshold."

"Oh, that would be too cruel!" Ginny laughed. "Even the greasy git doesn't deserve that. Imagine what will happen when your little Slytherin starts to speak! His first line probably is "I want lemon drops' and the second 'Tell me all about the 25 uses of dragon blood!"

"The second line Severus would like," Hermione laughed. Then she became serious again. "You know, Ginny, that it was Severus who pushed Albus over the last hurdle?"

"Snape? Hurdle?" Ginny looked curious. "I mustn't understand that, must I?"

Hermione pushed the pillow up leaning comfortable against it. "As I started to talk about wanting a baby, Albus refused - with all his the stubbornness he can muster - and that's a lot, I tell you. He said I'd be too young and he'd be too old and with the war and my education not ready and my career and yadda-yadda-yadda ... For almost three weeks we were arguing like mad. We hardly needed more then three minutes in private - and loo, we were already in the middle of a row again."

"And you didn't tell me?" Ginny looked almost shocked. "I thought you were so happy with him ..."  
"Oh Ginny - I'm mostly happy with him. I love him, even if we're arguing with each other. Even if I'm mad with him - and he's able to make me pretty mad - I love him."

Ginny swallowed. "He wasn't nasty tu, wu, was he?"

Hermione patted her hand. "Not nastier than I was to him. I called him an egotistical arrogant Slytherin who thinks he's the only one with some brains and got an 'unbearable, pigheaded Gryffindor' back. I told him he could perhaps rule the world, but not me, he named me a madwoman in dire need of padded cell at St. Mungos. After that I became so furious with him he fled to his office for the night. I fumed for two hours, and then I missed him so much I went to him. Approximately one hour later we were battling again because he didn't want to sleep with me as long as the matter wasn't settled. He told me that my attempt to seduce him was 'unfair', I told him that his refusal would be too, he said something about how 'daft' a woman could be, I almost bite his head off - it was really a nice evening."

"And how did you persuade him in the end?" Ginny wanted to know.

"I didn't. It was Severus. I would never have believed it, but he understands why I want this baby ..."

"Snape understands? But how did he know? Did you tell him?" Ginny became once again big eyes.

"No, of course not." Hermione laughed by the thought of it. "But he saw a book Madame Pince got for me - something about fertility potions. And he asked Albus then ..."

Ginny looked thoughtfully. "It's funny, isn't it? I've never thought of Snape as somebody's friend - and now to think about him and the headmaster talking private things ..."

"They often do," Hermione said. "And Severus - so at least Albus says - is always my 'advocate' in it. And so he was in the discussion about the baby too. It was on the evening afteveruverus broke down in class. Albus went to see him. Albus came back very thoughtfully. He told me I'd have got support by Severus - and asked me to give him and the subject three day rests."

"And you did?" Ginny asked. "I'd probably burst in curiosity."

Hermione grinned. "I actually was closer to bursting in rage. I was - as your dear brother Ron would say - on pissed-off level four all the time. I regretted that Albus had only blown off the Slytherin's bathroom with Malfoy's potion because I felt like blowing off this entire brood of vipers - after dismembering my husband and his potion master while using two bricks!" She made the gesture of clashing two bricks together.

"Utch!" Ginny made. "But I probably wouldn't have taken this well either. Men are sometimes such insensitive idiots."

"Indeed, they are," Hermione agreed. "I really was glad Albus was at least clever enough to act the diving duck during those three days. I fumed every time I sat eyes on him. Even at breakfast in the hall I found myself thinking about hexing him. And once in the dungeons I really did a jinx on him."

"You did?" Ginny jumped on the bed. "And I haven't seen it! And you didn't tell before! Hermione, you're not nice. Now tell already: What did you do to him?"

Hermilooklooked a bit sulky. "Not much. You know he's good in defence. If I'd have put a jinx on his noble persona, he'd noticed and removed it at once. But he did so deserve to become hexed! You must imagine: I was on my way to Severus' private lab. It's on the end of the small hall behind the classroom in the dungeons in a dark corner. As I just was about to open the wards, I felt a kiss on my neck. I knew immediately it was Albus - his smell is as unmistakable to me as the tickling of his beard when he kisses me. I really wasn't in the mood for kisses from him, so I named him a 'sneaky Slytherin bastard'."

"Uuh!" made Ginny and laughed. "And there was Harry who worried once about you feeling shy around the headmaster. What did he answer to that?"

"That Slytherin bastard," Hermione laughed and shook her head in remembering the scene, "provided me with one of his famous twinkles and said: 'I love you too, little lioness'."

Ginny laughed. "You must admit: He's got style."

Hermione grinned. "I hexed him nevertheless. As he marched away, grinning as smug as only a Slytherin can grin, I changed all the lemon drops in his pocket to earwax flavoured beans." She giggled. "I'd have so loved to see his face as he discovered it."

Ginny turned around giggling. "You're cruel, Hermione. The poor man - no lemon drops, no cherry, no cream. But ..." she looked at Hermione's belly, "... I think he got some sweets later ..."

"Oh yes - he did. And once again his fun on my account." Hermione didn't look angry by saying so, but rather pleased. The memory of that evening she wouldn't share with Ginny - at least not in detail - but for herself she liked to relieve it over and over again.

It had been the second evening after he'd asked for three days time, only hours after she'd hexed his lemon drops. She'd just come back from the potions lab in need of a shower after standing for one hour over a fuming potion (by now she knew that Severus' often greasy hair wasn't a sign of a lack of personal hygiene, but simply what his job did to him). Throwing her sweaty clothes away, she'd stepped under the shower, washed her hair and just started to spread showering gel over her body as she'd heard a little "plop" and felt a warm, naked body behind her. And then a pair of long arms had been laid around her middle, a beard had tickled her on the shoulder and a husky voice had whispered in her ear: "I thought you might need a helping hand. Or two ..."

For an endless minute Hermione had fought a battle against herself. Her inner sex goddess, bitchy as she was, had felt already very neglected and so she had purred: "Sex in the shower feels great. You know what warm water, soap and your hands can do there. Imagine his fingers ... you know, how talented he is. And his mouth on your neck feels already glorious and you only would have to kneel down and you could at last show him what a true head girl can work at for him ..."

Her conscience had spoken against. "How sex craved are you to become? You're cross with him - and you have damn good reason to be! He's an arrogant Slytherin and he certainly doesn't need you boosting his over developed ego with giving in so easily. Hermione, be a woman! Kick him out he she shower as quickly as possible!"

Sex goddess didn't want to give up - especially now, because Albus had just started to play with Hermione's breasts. So sex goddess had said: "Damn your conscience! Just let him shag you - he's so good at it. You can argue with him later ..."

As tempting as the idea of a long, good shag had been - conscience had won. Pushing his hands away, Hermione said: "No, Albus. I don't want to sleep with you."

"Pity," he answered - and Hermione was already starting to fume again, because he dared to sound amused. "I've cancelled a staff meeting for getting us a little time ..."

Hermione breathed deeply and tried to stay calm - though the famous sex goddess just had named her "the daftest cow on earth" for missing such an opportunity. "You should perhaps have asked before, Albus," she turned around, facing him.

He loitered against the wall of the shower, looking entirely at ease. "Hermione, I'm afraid you overestimate me."

"Hmm?" Hermione hadn't a clue what he wanted to tell her with that.

"You know, I'm certainly not too bad a wizard and I'm actually rather proud of inventing a few new and even some useful tricks during my lifetime," he said and scratched lightly on the little scrap on his forearm - courtesy of Crookshanks and the rather wild cuddling Albus liked to do with him, "but I don't think I'd be able to invent a charm for getting you pregnant. Besides I must admit that I actually would prefer the old-fashioned method. It needs perhaps a bit more time than a spell, but it's certainly more fun."

"Albus ..." After all the discussions of the last weeks Hermione wouldn't have thought he'd give in finally so easily. Therefore she was a bit suspicious. "Did I get that right? You've just agreed to procreate?"

"Yes, Hermione - I agree to procreate. If it's really your wish," he answered, now seriously, "I will do my part in fulfilling it."

Hermione swallowed. She'd won the battle, but this victory tasted bitter and she suddenly wasn't sure about her decision anymore. Perhaps she'd really asked too much of him? To live through the last months of his life with knowing that she would get his child - a child he'd probably never see! - Would make his life a hell - or wouldn't it? She knew him well enough now to feel that he didn't fear death, but also loved life. To create new life on the brink of finishing his own - this was too much to ask of him. Sadly she said: "You do that only for me ..."

He opened his arms. "Come to me, little lioness." Switching the shower off, he cradled her head on his shoulder. "Before my talk with Severus I'd said 'If I do, then I do it for you'. I love you and I wish you to get what you want. The last days I thought about it anew. I want it for me too, Hermione." His voice, at the start of his speech only a soft whisper, became firmer. "I won't see my child, I won't be a father to him and this makes me sad. But to know, that you love me so much you want to have my child even without me being there to help you, makes me a proud and happy man. And to know that our love - the tangible, living, breathing, wriggling prove of it - will survive my will gives me the strength I'll need to do my duty. I'll fight for you and our child - and with the two of you in my heart and in my back the evil won't stand a chance."

"Albus ..." Hermione cried on his shoulder. "I love you so much ..."

"Then close the floodgates, Darling. I'd hate to bed a crying woman. It would make me doubt my qualities as a lover." Albus kissed the tip of her nose. "Besides: I'm already wet. I need rather soap then salt on my skin."

Hermione laughed and wiped a tear away. "Soap? To wash out your mouth?"

"I don't think you'd really like that." Albus switched the shower on once again. "Soapy kisses taste awful!"

"As awful as earwax flavoured beans?" Hermione asked innocently.

Albus, who'd started to spread soap over her back, stopped his massage and looked down on her. "I knew it was you. But aren't you ashamed? Hexing your husband's lemon drops? How are you to make up for this?"

"Hmm ..." Hermione looked up at him. "I could kiss my husband. Thoroughly. And then I could ...," she let her hand wander down over his belly to his already half erected member, "... get on my knees ..."

"Ah?" He smiled. "I don't think so. Getting yourself a lollipop after you've destroyed my lemon drops - no. It's for me to get something nice to suck at - like this." He kneeled down and kissed her breast, his hand stroking over her tight and parting her legs.

Hermione leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. The warm water on her skin and his kisses and his stroking made her tremble. And now he'd found her clitoris and played with it and she heard herself moan and found it hard to stay upright. "Albus ..."

"Hmm?" He only stopped for a moment in sucking her breast.

"Take me to bed ..." Hermione said. "I want so much to feel you ..."

"Impatient?" He smiled and bite lightly in her nipple. "As I said: I've cancelled a meeting. This means we have a lot of time - and I intend to use it." Rising up, he turned her around so that she stood with her back to him. She felt his erection on her butt, but he obviously wasn't in a hurry. Just on the contrary - he now played with both her breasts, pulling the nipples lightly and massaging the firm flesh. Hermione closed her eyes. She wanted more - but she knew he wouldn't speed up. He liked to tease her and he even liked to make her ask for more. Sometimes he wondered how frankly she could do this now. In the Gryffindor common room she'd once had been named "our prude in training" - the rank of the "Gryffindor prude No.1" had already gone to Minerva McGonagall. But he remembered very well how often she grumbled then about her mates always talking about sex. And now it was she who had become vocative and who enjoyed talking about sex - but only with Albus. With him it felt right and so she started, her eyes closed and her voice st dst dreamy: "I want you to make love to me. I want you to push your cock in me - slowly and strongly, as deep as possible. I want to feel your weight on me, your skin against mine, my legs around your back, and your hands on my butt. I want to come by being fucked by you and I want to feel you come, sweating and panting ..."

"You will, Darling, you will," he said, his voice no more than a whisper. "My perfect mistress ... my beloved ... Hermione ..." And then, suddenly gri gripped her firmly, rose her up and turned her around again, pressing her close.

She understood and wrapped her legs around him, feeling him push against her and sinking her slowly down on his erection. "Oh, Albus ..." It still felt sensational and perfect and overwhelming and she clung to him and closed her eyes, concentrating entirely on him moving in her, slow and tenderly and sending shivers up and down her spine. She loved him, she desired him and she'd thought she couldn't love and desire him any more. But now she learned that there . To know that this act didn't only mean him and her, but probably their future too, that he was not only her husband and her lover and her friend and her comrade, but the man who could - would - should - become the father of her child, deepened her feelings for him to an extend she hadn't thought possible. 

In the next days Albus showed her that he truly and really wanted her to become pregnant. He'd slept with her every night - even in the one he came back late from an order's meeting. Hermione knew that he'd probably used a potion, but for once she hadn't minded, but simply enjoyed his eagerness and the connection it created between them.

Two weeks after he'd started what Hermione inwardly had named "the sex marathon", he had one morning kissed her and then turned for his wand and spectacles. Directing the wand on her belly, he'd murmured a spell. Hermione had almost forgotten to breathe as she saw, how a bright sphere appeared over her belly. It seemed to pulse and it changed its colours from a light blue over violet until it became finally green.

"Albus?" she asked quietly. "Does this mean ...?"

"Finite incantatum," he had commanded and, after putting his wand back on the night stand, laid his hand against her belly. "Yes, my love - it does mean you're pregnant."

"Albus!" Hermione had threw her arms around him and pulled him close. Laughing and crying in the same time she'd said: "We did it - we really did it. And I'm so happy!"

"So am I, Hermione," Albus had tenderly kissed her. "You're expecting a little witch - or a wizard."

Hermione knew him well enough to hear that there was something like relief in his voice. "Albus - did you doubt we could have a baby?"

"No, I made sure about that," came the prompt and short answer.

"Hmm?" Hermione sat up. "You have taken a potion?"

"Yes, I did. I promised you, I'd support this," Albus kissed her again.

"But that's not everything." Hermione took his face in her hands and made him look at her.

He sighed again. "You know why Severus r war wanted children of his own?"

"He doesn't like children at all," Hermione answered. "Besides he was afraid, some one could use his semen ..."

Albus laid down on his back, pulling her on his side. "Those weren't the only reasons. The main reason is that he's the offspring of a very old wizard's family - like I am. And very old pureblood families are very inbreeded families. In Severus' case: He had two cousins who were squibs. One died at the age of 11 - probably because his fathilleilled him as it became clear that he hadn't got any magic. The other committed suicide at the age of 14. In my case: My brother - as much as I loved him - was not only very eccentric, but almost a squib. He worked all his life as kind of a farmer on our family's estate because he couldn't have gotten another job in the wizard's world. He needed our house elves support even for small magic. He never complained about and he never showed envy or jealousy against me, but I don't think he was happy ..."

"So you are afraid our child could become a squib too?" Hermione asked and laid, without thinking about it, her hand against her belly. "When will we know?"

"We do already," Albus said. "At least we've got a clue. You know, children need some time until they develop their magic. But the colour of the sphere showing her or his presence - did you notice how the colours changed?"

"Yes!" Hermione cried excited. "Is there a meaning behind it?"

"Yes," Albus answered with a smile. "The blue was my part of it - my magic always shows itself in blue. Yours is - suiting your house - red. But because you're young, my magic overpowers yours a bit - therefore it was blue and red mixed - violet."

"In the end it was green!" Hermione looked expectantly at Albus. "Was this our baby's magic?"

"Yes, I think so," Albus answered.

"Oh heavens!" Hermione laughed and kicked his legs. "You've got me a little Slytherin! I just see it: She'll crawl out of my womb, sneering at me! And one of her first lines will be 'How Gryffindor of you, Mummy!"

Albus grinned. "Better than he comes out, crying: 'How could you get me a Slytherin for a father? That's a shame for a Gryffindor!"

"He won't dare to criticise my choice!" Hermione laughed. "If he ever tries, I get Hagrid to baby sit. He will tell the baby then what a great man his father is - twice in one hour!"

Albus looked at her and for a moment his eyes darkened. Hermione swallowed. She knew what he thought and laying her arms around him she said: "He or she - it's a part of you ..."

"Yes, Hermione." He kept her close. "I won't forget it. But ..." He hesitated for a moment, then he said with a very sad smile: "If I were to look at the mirror of Erised again, I'd probably see myself with you and our baby ..." 

"Meow!" Hermione's tomcat Crookshanks sounded pretty insulted. Turning around he raised a claw, but he wasn't quick enough. The phoenix, who had just teased him by picking at his tail, hovered in the air over him.

"Fawkes!" Hermione said. "Come down here and eat your apple!" She pointed to an edge of her paper laden desk where a little dish with a few apple slices stood. The phoenix came down, but he didn't land where he should, but in front of Hermione, right on the middle of the book she had read. Crooking his head, he looked up to her out of onyx eyes. Hermione laughed. "You don't expect me to cuddle you, Fawkes, do you? You know you don't deserve it. First you were sent away from your wizard's study because you couldn't stop pestering the minister, now ..."

Just at this moment a green flame in the fireplace roared. In its middle Albus' head appeared, looking seriously. "Hermione?" he asked. "Are you there?"

Hermione rose and walked over to the fire. Bending down, she answered kindly: "Here I am, Albus."

Was there a hint of amusement in his blue eyes? She wasn't sure because he sounded almost grave as he asked her: "Could you be so kind to come down to my office for a moment? His Excellency, the minister of magic, wants to speak with us ..."

Hermione suppressed a grin. Albus addressing Fudge with his title could only mean that "his Excellency" was to be shown his limits once again. And obviously Albus wanted to share the fun with her even if Fudge wasn't delighted about it. Hermione could just hear him in the background, grumbling with a sulky voice: "I didn't say I'd want to speak with your wife too, Dumbledore. I don't know why you think you need her for just answering a simple question."

Now Hermione was sure: Albus was amused. He didn't twinkle, but his blue eyes beamed at her as he politely said: "But Cornelius - it's a question concerning my wife too." Looking directly at Hermione, he smiled. "You come?"

"I'm on my way, Darling." Normally Hermione avoided using terms of endearment against her husband when they were in company - but when the company was the minister, Hermione sometimes had to refrain herself from doing something totally inappropriate like purring a "You were so great last night" loud enough for Fudge to hear or fumbling Albus' still pretty firm and nice bottom. Although - with Albus always wearing robe this wouldn't have made much effect anyway. But showing Fudge that she was happy in her marriage and that her husband was still more of a man than the minister ever would be - this she would have loved.

Her occasion to do so came earlier than she'd expected. Running down the stairs to Albus' office, she almost busted with curiosity about the "simple question" Fudge had asked her husband. Having arrived finally, standing behind Albus' chair, hearing the "simple question" it was only Albus gripping her hand and stroking it which kept hery fry from bursting in rage. But even Albus couldn't stop her from showing the minister how she liked his "simple question". He'd started with "I hope you won't mind, but I'm only doing my duty" and now Hermione hissed: "I do mind, Minister! I do mind very much discussing our privacy with you!"

Although she hadn't shouted, Fudge obviously knew that adding fuel to the fire of a crossed Gryffindor never was a good idea. He'd backed in his chair and tried a weak smile: "Miss Granger ..."

Wrong move. Hermione's eyes blazed fire. "My name is - as you know very well, Minister - Hermione Granger-Dumbledore. Under given circumstances I feel very much like Madame Dumbledore." Hermione was so cross! She felt like hexing this slim ball, this sorry excuse for a wizard, this proven idiot, back into the middle age where he with his stupid ideas about women belonged!

"Dumbledore!" Fudge tried it now with Albus. "Could you perhaps explain ...?"

Albus was busy. He rummaged in a drawer of his desk, murmuring: "I know, I have ... where is ...?"

"Dumbledore!" Fudge cried.

Albus looked up and though Hermione couldn't see his eyes, she knew they were beaming in innocent baby blue. "Yes, Cornelius?" he asked now, still rummaging in his drawer.

Fudge looked as if he were close to a heart attack. With trembling voice he said: "I know, your wife is muggle-born, Dumbledore. But I thought that after almost seven years in this school she should have learned to respect the authorities of our world."

Hermione couldn't have stopped herself, even if Albus had asked her to. But he didn't. He was still much more interested in his drawer than in the minister and so Hermione got her chance to say: "I do respect thehorihorities of our world, Mister Fudge!" She knew Severus would have been proud of her. She'd almost managed his "silk over blade" tone as well as he himself.

Albus had found what he'd searched for. With a cheerful "Got it!" he produced a little white bag and offered it to Hermione. "Lemon drop, dear?"

Hermione actually didn't like lemon drops. But for showing unity with her husband, she'd probably have swallowed a flabberworm now. Showing her sweetest smile, she took a lemon drop, put it in her mouth and purred: "I love your lemon drops, Darling." And once again she was proud of hlf -lf - it wasn't easy to make the word "lemon drop" sound this frivolous!

And in fact: Fudge looked than he'd use once all his brain cells for thinking hard about which part of a wizard his wife could name "lemon drops". Hermione, in unison with Albus sucking on her lemon drop, had to brace herself - she suddenly thought of Ginny and would have betted that her girlfriend would comment this with: "Considering we're talking about Fudge, I'd say he thought of testicles! His probably are just the size of a lemon drop!"

Albus prevented Hermione from further thinking about Fudge's balls. Looking at the minister over the rim of his spectacles, he said calmly: "You know, Cornelius, my wife has a mind of her own. And I must say, I rather like it. Weak women I always found boring." Squeezing Hermione's hand lightly, he proceeded: "But back to your simple question: Is there a reason for as? I ? I mean, we're not married under the new law ..."

Fudge seemed to feel firm ground again. He looked as if he were to drop a bomb and could hardly expect the shocked reaction of the victims. "You know, Dumbledore, there's a little paragraph in the new law: If a marriage, done under the old law, is doubt, the ministry is in the duty to monitor it as if it were under the regulations of the new law. And so we did our duty and ..."

"Just a moment!" Hermione interrupted. She really felt like bursting now and only wondered why Albus could stay so calm. "You don't want to tell us, that some one doubted our marriage and you monitored our love life without informing us?"

"I'm afraid, Madame Dumbledore," now Fudge even dared to smile, "I have to tell you a bit more." Leaning back and folding his hands over his belly, he proceeded. "Considered the circumstances under which your marriage was done, we were prepared for the case of some one doubting it. Now we have this case and therefore I'm glad we've looked at you all the time ..." He fumbled a parchment out of his robe, unrolled it and looked at it. With a smile Hermione could only name "dirty" he directed his glance at Albus. "I've got the dates of the marital consummations here on this list - not bad for your age, Dumbledore, really. Yet ..."

Hermione had gotten enough - for once and at last. No one could expect her to stand by peacefully when her husband was insulted, no one could expect her to swallow an outrage like this. She pushed her fingers in her sleeve, searching for her wand - and suddenly heard an amused voice in her mind: "Don't, little Lioness. I have better ideas for our free time than getting you out of Azkaban."

Looking down on Albus, she saw how he just pushed his wand back in his robe - and then his presence in her mind was gone and she heard Fudge again.

"Considered the marriage was consummated rather regularly over the first weeks," he smiled like a toad watching a big fat fly just flying in its direction, "I told my colleagues already that you have probably good reason for the delay in the last four weeks. Nevertheless: Duty demands clearing. You know, I'd hate I'd have to divorce a couple so devoted as you."

Hermione's hand was back on Albus' shoulder, feeling his warmth and strength under the green velvet he was wearing. And now his fingers entwined with hers and with his thumb stroking her palm, he said: "You won't have to, Cornelius. We know your heart would bleed by it. But allow me one question: Who doubts our marriage?"

Fudge seemed amazed. "Why - Lucius Malfoy of course," he answered.

Hermione almost opened her mouth for saying something, but Albus' firm grip held her back. She didn't understand - hadn't Albus told her, that Malfoy sr. was considering to change sides? He'd invited Albus for dinner and although Albus had said afterwards that Malfoy hadn't offered an alliance yet, he'd been very optimistic. Now this hope was shattered - or wasn't it? Albus seemed to swallow disappointment. Hermione felt how his finger trembled on hers for a few seconds and she admired how he nevertheless managed to sound calm as he said: "Yes, of course - who else?" Smiling up to Hermione, he proceeded: "But to get this finally over: You know, my wife is to do her NEWTs in a few days and I'm a bit under the weather too - we do have good reason, the best, I may say. Hermione is pregnant - and as many young witches in their first pregnancy she suffers from sickness and a few other little maladies. Therefore we weren't much in the mood for marital consummations over the last weeks ..."

Hermione loved the look on Fudge's face and she was sure: She wouldn't forget it in a lifetime. He obviously had not in his wildest dreams thought on that and now he gaped like a goldfish out of his bowl. "You're pregnant?" he finally managed.

Hermione smiled her sweetest smile again. "Yes, Minister. Isn't it wonderful? I'm expecting a little Dumbledore - and of course, I hope that he or she will become as great a wizard as its Daddy."

"And I hope," Albus added, "the little one gets a few nice Granger genes too. I'm rather fond of them ..."

Fudge looked as if the idea of a child with a Granger-Dumbledore blend of genes were his worse nightmare. Probably he saw himself already hunted by a blue-eyed, bushy haired toddler, waving a wand and screaming: "Give me lemon drops or I'll hex boils on your arse!" He surely remembered the boil jinx Hermione had once put on the face of the girl who'd betrayed the defence group at Hogwarts. During the following trouble he hadn't dared to demand punishment for that, but Hermione was certain he knew it had been her invention.  
In every case he'd obviously got once again enough for one day. Rising slowly, he cleared his throat and faked a smile. "Congratulations then. The birth of a new wizard, especially when a descent of so remarkable parents, is always a reason for joy - not only for the young family, but for all our community. So I'm very much looking forward to meeting the next generation of Dumbledores!" Stepping backwards to the fireplace as if he wouldn't dare to show the couple his back, he put his hat on. "As you've said, Dumbledore: We're all very busy at the moment and so I don't want to keep you away from your work any longer. If you could just open your wards for me?"

"Of course, Cornelius." Albus waved a finger, a greenme rme roared in the fireplace. "Thank you for your visit and have a nice day."

Fudge bowed to Hermione: "Madame Dumbledore!" Then he threw some floo powder in the flame, shouted "The minister of magic's office!" and jumped - still backwards - in the fire and disappeared.

Hermione just waited until Albus had with another wave of his hand closed the wards again, then she said - and it sounded if it came from the bottom of her heart: "Pompous arsehole!"

Albus laughed and pulled her closer. "Language, Madame Dumbledore!" He laid his head against her belly, blew a kiss on it and whispered: "I'm her headmaster, little one. Therefore I had to say that, but between you and me: She's right."

Hermione stroked over silver head. "Aren't you disappointed about Malfoy, Albus?" she asked.

"No, I'm not." He looked up at her again, his eyes beaming. "Just on the contrary! One moment ..." He rose up and marched to the fireplace. Throwing a hand full of floo powder in the flames, he put his head in and called: "Professor Snape's office." He waited a few seconds, and then he called again: "Severus?"

"Yes, Headmaster?" came the cold, very distant voice of the potion master back.

Hermione, having heard a few floo conversations between her husband and Severus by now, knew what this coldness and the usage of the formal address meant: The potion master had a visitor - and obviously one he didn't want knowing how close he actually was to his superior.

Albus understood Severus' subtle signals probably even better then Hermione. Smiling he only said: "You may place your order, Professor Snape."

"Oh?" Snape sounded surprised, but only for a slight second. Then his voice was cool and almost bored again. "I'm at your service, Headmaster."

"Thank you, Professor." Albus pulled his head out of the flames, arose and smiled to Hermione. "What do you think Madame Hellegard, owner of Diagon Alley's most renowned 'everything for the baby wizard' shop think when she gets an order from Severus? Will she faint?"

"What will he order?" Hermione demanded to know.

"Nice rompers for our baby, of course. In cheerful colours."

Hermione sank down in his chair, hiding her face in her hands, laughing. "Albus - you're sometimes cruel! What did you do to poor Severus?"

Albus came around his desk and leaned on the edge, taking her hand and kissing it. Looking the perfect innocent again, he said: "I did nothing, Hermione. It was him. He said, he'd buy our baby his first rompers if I could persuade Lucius to change sides."

"Ah - Moment ..." Hermione shook her head. "I'm afraid that's once again too Slytherin for a poor Gryffindor. Lucius Malfoy changing sides is to doubt our marriage?"

"Yes, of course." Albus looked as if nothing could be more logical. "He's to come back into Voldemort's good grace."

"You mean, he's to become your spy?" Hermione made big eyes. "But, Albus - you can't trust him!"

"I don't." Albus kissed her hand again, but this time the inner side of her wrist. "At least I don't trust him in the way I trust Severus. Yet I trust on Lucius' will to survive this war and to stay out of Azkaban. He knows I'm his only chance for that."

"But to become your spy!" Hermione swallowed. "I'd never thought he'd go so far. It seems he's got moouraourage than I ever believed."

Albus played with her fingers. "I wouldn't name it courage. I'd rather say he sees his chance. He knows he's actually in a no win situation. He doesn't believe in Voldemort anymore - if he ever did which I actually doubt. In every case: He doesn't believe in Voldemort winning the war anymore. But he can't leave him in the moment - first because Voldemort would kill him and second because he's a known death eater. Even with all his wealth and connections he can't make people forget about that."

"But he managed already twice to get himself away unpunished!" Hermione said.

"Which means that he's running out of luck now? He wouldn't succeed a third time." Albus nibbled on her thumb. "Not when the war is over. Then all the people who're now so afraid their duck and hide will scream for revenge. Lucius wouldn't stand a chance. His only way to get away is to become a spy - a good and useful one, I dare say. For this he has to prove his loyalty against Voldemort."

"And this was your idea, wasn't it?" Hermione shook her head. How can people think you could be anything else than a Slytherin?"

Albus became serious. Looking in Hermione's eyes, he said: "I have a little problem with the next step of our plan - and the problem is you, or better said: You being a true Gryffindor and as such ..." He fell silent, thinking for a moment. Then he smiled a bit weak: "Harry accused me once; I'd use people as mere pawns in my game. Perhaps he's right - I'm playing a highly dangerous game with one Tom Riddle. And now I've got an additional point to consider: My dame should be spared unnecessary grieve."

Hermione swallowed, but then said firm: "Your dame - if that's me as I reckon - is only pregnant, not sick, Albus. And she hates to be an additional problem. So just move her as you'd move her without being connected to her."

He shook his head. "I can't. I love her too much." Looking again in her eyes, he said: "Hermione, I must ask you for something which isn't your strength: Acting - lying to people - hiding your true feelings." He pulled her on her feet, sat down in his chair and took her in his lap.

Hermione laid her arm ad hid his shoulder. "For you I'll even lie," she said. "I knew you wouldn't demand it if not for something very important."

"It will probably save two lives - and at least one of these lives is of a certain importance to you, Hermione," Albus said.

"What do you plan?" she simply asked.

Albus smiled. "I'll give Severus at last a few weeks of well deserved rest - with only the little drawback that he is to spend the time at my mansion - where we are to go at the weekend because we'll have to welcome my great cousin from Germany. His name is Johannes Praetorius. He's the offspring of an old German wizard family and luckily a potion master too. And in the moment he's a potion master in trouble because he cheated once too many on his wife. She divorced him and by doing so produced a scandal at the Blocksberg University where he is the potion professor. His superior wasn't too delighted about learning that Johannes had an affair with a student. So Johannes got a year off for 'research'."

Hermione couldn't resist a giggle. "Is it possible," she said, "that womanizing runs in your family?"

"Madame!" Albus made a face. "I wouldn't cheat on my wife and I certainly never was after a student of mine - with one exception, of course."

"But you won't deny you were a ladies man too, dearest, will you?" Hermione asked sweetly. "I mean, you were the wicked 13 year old who dreamed of performing oral sex to a teacher."

"But I never did it!" Albus defended himself. "Anyway: Back to Johannes. He is to go to South America this year. And because the student in question will sooner or later follow him there, he isn't too keen on telling his university about his whereabouts. So he would just like Severus covering him for a few months. For making the change from Johannes the real Severus acting Johannes as unsuspicious as possible, Johannes - who is not only a colleague, but almost a friend to Severus - will attend the funeral."

"The funeral?" Hermione shook her head. "Albus, you're too quick for me. Who is to be buried?"

"Severus of course," Albus answered as if he'd announce something as normal as rain during a quidditch match. "Draco will tell his father that Severus will be collecting herbs in the forbidden forest on the next full moon night. Lucius will come and kill Severus. Hagrid will find the body - I don't like that part very much, because Hagrid really likes Severus and will mourn for him, but you know how Hagrid is, so we can't afford to tell him it's only a farce."

Hermione sighed. "I hate this war. But what will become of Malfoy?"

"Lucius will escape and because he isn't to use his wand, but a dagger, so he can't be tracked. Yet I will expel Draco - Lucius will see to him being the witness which will give Minerva a chance to catch him after curfew again and with his record this will be enough to expel him."

"Lucius Malfoy wants his son expelled only a few weeks before his NEWTs?" Hermione couldn't believe it.

"No, he actually didn't think of Draco," Albus looked sad. "I'm afraid he never does. But I want the boy out of England when Lucius is back at Voldemort. Draco expelled from Hogwarts means Draco going to Beauxbaton. And because he isn't as brilliant a student as you are, he can't do his NEWTs there this year, but has to repeat the seventh year. So he really is out of the way."

"And so is Severus." Hermione smiled at her husband. "Albus, you're a genius."

"I'm not finished yet." He kissed the tip of her nose. "There's something more what I like about this plan. Severus at the mansion is to become the knight who covers the dame."

"Hmm?" Hermione didn't understand entirely.

"Just so simple, Darling: As soon as you're finished with your NEWTs at Beauxbaton, we'll leave Hogwarts because of the upcoming election. Then we'll move to the mansion - and because I'll be pretty busy then, I'm glad Severus will be there to look after you."

"Albus, I don't need a baby sitter," Hermione said a bit cross.

"But I'll feel better in knowing you're not alone," he stated firmly. "So will you please accept my decision?"

"Huh!" said Hermione. "There's no need becoming head masterly with me."

"I beg your pardon." Albus kissed her head. "But you must understand how important your security is to me. You and the baby - I can't risk anything happening to you."

Hermione embraced him, figh aga against the tears. "I will do as you say," she promised.

"Uiih!" Now he grinned again. "I've got an obedient wife. Who would have thought of that?"

"Enjoy it as long as it lasts!" ioneione snuggled closer to him, burying here ine in his beard and shoving one finger between two buttons on his robe.

Albus seemed to like that. He laid his hand on her tight, stroking it lightly. "How do you feel, my dear?" he asked then and his voice was quiet, but a bit hoarser then usual.

Hermione's finger had found soft skin under the robe. Stroking it, she raised her head and whispered in his ear: "I think I don't want to go for dinner in the hall. I'd rather have my dinner in bed. And ...," her voice became a purr, "... I hope very much my husband isn't too busy for keeping me company."

"He is not." Albus rose with her in his arms. Using his levitation charm once again, he carried her up the stairs.  
Just arriving there, they heard a rustle from the portrait of Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black and then his voice rumbling: "You know, young lady, the minister - idiot as he is - was right in one point: You should lay your husband at least oncweakweak. Without having sex on a regularly bases he already was rather unbearable."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Rompers and rumours

Severus Snape lobeinbeing dead. The last four weeks since his "must be mourned premature demise" - as Fudge, pompous as always, had lied by the funeral - he'd felt more alive than in years before and sometimes - even if he would rather swallow his tongue than to admit it to Albus - even happy. Naturally: Happiness in Severus Snape didn't mean, he was going to dance in joy or to embrace the next human or elfish being as Hermione sometimes did. But it meant that he didn't mind - at least not too much - that Albus had started to hug him as the usual finish of the evenings they spent together.

As Albus had done it first, Severus had felt overrun - and so idiotically touched he'd said in his most vitriol tone: "I take it, you're becoming senile. So I don't feel insulted for being mixed up with Miss Granger."

Albus - being Albus - had laughed and said: "Does this mean, you won't give me a sweet good night kiss?"

The next evening Albus had hugged him again. This time Severus had been prepared hissing an "I hate it when you become sentimental."

But once again he'd got laughter back and a kind: "Sleep well, Severus."

And so Severus had resigned. He'd always envied Albus for his master ship - no, not in swallowing insults, but in letting them bounce off. In the years they'd knew each other, Severus had often tried to get on Albus, he really had shot from every angle - but only once he'd got something back which had sounded hurt. It haen aen a sad: "I don't want to believe you really mean that, child."

After that Severus had felt miserable for days - so much he wished he could tell Albus at least once how he really felt. Yet he couldn't. Although Albus was the only human being Severus ever had trusted and probably the only one he loved, Severus was afraid to give in to these feelings, to admit them, to speak out loudly what he almost didn't dare to think. It would only make him feel weaker and more deflessless against Albus than he already felt. And Severus hated weakness; he loathed it especially when it came in connection with Albus.

Actually it had already started in Severus' first year at Hogwarts. He had been a thin, small boy with swallow skin, greasy hair, a nose much too big for his face and no social skills at all. Having grown up in the dim Snape mansion in one of the wettest and most lonesome corners of Yorkshire with a father who avoided seeing his only son as much as possible and only a terrified house elf to look after him, Severus had never played with other children, he'd never talked to one before he came to Hogwarts. So the noise in the train had frightened him and by entering the great hall, hearing all the laughter and talking and shuffling of feet he'd wished to be back at home where he could escape the world by burying himself in books.

In Hogwarts he'd tried this way of fleeing too soo soon as he'd discovered the library, he'd become a regular there, always hiding with a book in the darkest corner. And if he couldn't hide in the library, he'd tried to make himself as invisible as possible. Mostly he'd succeeded in that. Nobody had seemed to notice him - except the old man.

Severus remembered how he'd felt the first time. It had been at breakfast in the hall in his second week at Hogwarts. He'd mumbled on a slice of dry toast - the richness of the Hogwarts meals had still irritated him and so he hadn't tried something else at breakfast than what he was used to from home: Dry toast and bitter tea - as he'd suddenly felt some one watching him. Looking up he'd seen the headmaster's blue eyes resting on him, unusually sad and grave and filled with something Severus couldn't describe. But this gaze had warmed him and from then on Severus had by then almost every meal gazed - of course secretly, through his eye lashes - to the head table. Often enough he'd found the blue eyes then watching and warming him.

Then, two or three months after the first eye contact, Professor Sciglione, Hogwarts' that time potion master, had been away for a conference and instead of him the headmaster had swept in for the traditional double potion Slytherin-Gryffindor class. Severus had already heard - though he never talked to some one in the common room and always hide behind a book, he always heard what the others were talking about - that the old man liked to have fun when teaching and always came up with something Severus found "frivolous", like a potion to change hair colours or a pimple remover.

Nevertheless: For the eccentricity Dumbledore had in mind this morning Severus hadn't been prepared. A cheering up potion! Who should need something like that? To Severus it seemed like a mere waste of time and ingredients. As Dumbledore was ready with his instructions for it, the disappointment on Severus' face - and hadn't he reason for it? The man in front of him was the former partner of Nicolas Flamel, greatest potion maker and alchemist alive and he was the one who'd invented the 25 uses of dragon blood in potion making, so one could have expected more from him than a cheering up potion, couldn't one? – it had obviously been clear in his face. Dumbledore had been amused by it. Smiling he'd said: "Actually I thought Mister Snape would like a little cheering, but I obviously I was wrong ..."

The class - especially the blasted Gryffindors and of course, most loud the quartet around James Potter - had laughed and Severus hadn't known if he felt more hurt or more furious. For a moment he'd hated the old man even more than he'd always hated himself. He'd wished to run away, but instead he'd found himself walking down to the closet where Lily Evans gave out the ingredients to the students. As Severus had just got in line, he'd heard Dumbledore addressing him again: "Mister Snape - would you please come to me?"

Turning around Severus had seen Dumbledore in front of another closet - the one where the finer and more valuable ingredients were stored. Smiling, Dumbledore had said: "Severus, I've heard you're a most able young man ..."

Severus had been confused. Of course, he'd liked potions and he'd read every book about them he could find in his father's library, but he'd never talked with somebody about it and he'd never shown anything special in Professor Sciglione's class. So how could the headmaster know?

Severus had almost missed what Dumbledore had said then: "I'd like to giou aou a special challenge. Here ...," he'd pointed to the closet he'd stood in front of, "... you find everything you may need to improve the recipe on the chalkboard. Consider what you can do based on this potion - I'm sure you've already an idea. You can of course ask me if you want to, but you don't have to. Just serve yourself with what you think you need ..."

Severus had looked at the old man very suspicious. He just couldn't believe Dumbledore would have really wanted to give him the opportunity he'd longed for since he'd seen the well stocked Hogwarts' potion stores first time. So looking to the recipe on the chalkboard he'd said cautiously: "You want me to make a pepper up, Headmaster? It only needs some asphodel and powdered bicorn ..."

"Very well - you've seen it once. Five points to Slytherin, Mister Snape. Yet ...," Dumbledore had smiled, "I'm sure you can even do better. Think about it."

And in fact: After a little brooding over the recipe Severus had an idea - only he hadn't been sure if it would work. So he'd asked - very awkward and expecting a rebuke from Professor Dumbledore and got not only praise, but a little about his idea, an even bigger reward for him as the 10 points Dumbledore had given him, because he'd felt for the first time in his life that some one had taken him and his ideas serious.

Probably it had started then and although Severus had for long years fought against it - by now he knew, that Dumbledore had won. Despite all the disappointments and arguments in their long history together, despite Severus' fear of weakness - and wasn't it a weakness, the greatest weakness thinkable? - Severus had at last given in not only to being loved by the old man, but to love him back as the father he'd never had and as the friend he'd always longed for.

And with loving Albus Severus - though he still often wondered about and though he still refused to admit it loudly - had learned to love 1 ½ other human beings too: Hermione Granger and the child she was expecting.

First it hadn't been easy. Just on the contrary. Severus had disliked the student Hermione Granger immensely over the first years. Her showing off, her never ending bing,ing, her annoying curiosity, her ambitions and the fact, that she was without doubt Hogwarts brightest young star, but a Gryffindor, had made him almost hate her.

The mage tge to Albus hadn't changed his dismay of her - just on the contrary. In the first weeks he'd sometimes wished he could feed her the nastiest potion thinkable because he almost couldn't stand how sad, tired and old Albus had looked in those days. And the comments of the Slytherins! Even with Albus being insult proof as he was - Severus loathed to have his almost-father and friend belittled and he'd blamed the "Granger brat" for making Albus a target for dirty jokes.

Learning, that Albus loved Hermione, hadn't made the situation more bearable for Severus. He had feared for his friend's heart and - yes, always honest with himself, he'd even had have to admit that he'd been jealous. She - so Severus had thought - didn't deserve Albus' love and devotion, she'd never done anything to earn it and she'd probably even didn't appreciate it as she should. She was only a silly school girl, all too full of herself and arrogant and in a way even worse then her brainless friends.

The child had changed his view of her. To learn that she wanted to get a child from Albus - Severus obviously had understood quicker then Albus himself, what this meant and that this schoolgirl understood a part of Albus he himself obviously didn't dare to look to close at and that she was able to give him what he even never had dared to wish. And with it she'd given Severus something too: He who never had felt as a part of a family, who even never had thought he'd wish to, suddenly had become part of a family. He was the son Albus had chosen and he felt now to Hermione and her baby like an elder brother - sometimes one who didn't like to baby sit the little sister, sometimes one who argued with her about little things, sometimes even one who ranted with Daddy for "you always prefer her" (and by doing so he felt an admittedly childish comfort in knowing, that Hermione sometimes accused Albus of favouring Ses ovs over her when they were battling) - but none of this didn't change the fact that Severus felt responsible for Hermione and her baby.

Responsible and - in the moment - rather proud to be seated next to Albus in the great hall of Chateau Beauxbaton, waiting for the young witches and wizards who'd just finished their education to appear to get their degrees from the French minister of magic.

Severus knew already, that Hermione had done exceptional well - as it was to be expected from her. Only he'd have preferred to learn about it in another way than in meeting his French colleague Professor DeVale who obviously didn't think much of the old saying "the mortuis nihil nisi bene"*. Condoling Albus to the loss of his potion master, he'd greeted Severus - who of course was disguised as Johannes Praetorius - with a warm smile and had told then, that Albus "most enchanting wife" had earned top mark. "Of course," he'd said, "we couldn't go with her throthe the entire procedure - her pregnancy ... and by the way: Congratulations to becoming a father soon, Dumbledore, congratulations! It's always such a joy to see new life growing ...," then, looking a bit lost, he'd come to another point: "You know, Dumbledore, I was amazed at your wife's knowledge of potions. I considered that your late potion master - oh, by talking about him: Did you know Severus Snape, Johannes?"

Severus had highly regretted that Johannes Praetorius was known as a kind and cheerful man then. It meant that he had to smile instead of sneering at this babbling idiot and it even meant, he couldn't hex the French dunderhead for his further saying, that Severus Snape had been "a very unpleasant man indeed".

"You know, Dumbledore, I always wondered how you bared with him. I mean, he was a death eater ..."

At this place Albus had raised a hand and his voice had sounded cold: "He'd made a mistake as a young man, but he redeemed himself very much ..."

The French idiot hadn't felt too much rebuked by that, but babbled further: "I always thouthatthat terrorizing the pupils isn't a way to get them interested in your subject. Positive motivation - that's it. You must show them how fascinating potion making is; you must give them a chance to develop a devotion to the subject ..."

Severus had stood by - and needed all his willpower in stopping himself from asking aloud, why the "positive motivation" always leads to so lousy potion marks in Beauxbaton. His "terrorizing the students" had produced three new potion masters during the 11 years he'd taught at Hogwarts while Beauxbaton hadn't produced one in 20 years of "positive motivation".

Madame Maxine Hagrid, Headmistress of Beauxbaton, had rescued Severus and Albus with giving them a hearty welcome - and Severus a moment in which he'd cursed himself because he had for a moment forgotten about the role he had to play. Following the normal routine, he'd greeted Madame Maxine with a kiss on the hand and a few French lines. It had earne delighted: "Jean?" and –in French - a compliment about having learnt her language at last. Albus had saved the situation in maintaining "Jean" Johannes would only have had learnt this few lines from him for impressing the Madame, but Severus had afterwards needed a few minutes to calm himself.

Now the students were marching down the aisle and behind the flow of violet robed Beauxbaton's pupils came one small figure in black and white - Hermione, wearing the black Hogwarts robe over the black skirt, the grey sweater and the white shirt of her school uniform. Her tie, neatly knotted under the collar of her shirt, showed red and golden stripes, but on her chest were more colours: Instead of the golden-red Gryffindor lion she wore the complete Hogwarts crest.

Severus who hadn't seen her for the last fortnight found that her serious face looked very pale with dark shadows under the eyes. And standing in front of a hall, the stranger under the excited and beaming Beauxbaton's alumni, she reminded him of the nervous bushy-haired 11 year he'd once seen in the hall of Hogwarts. Only now her shirt was tighter over her belly which she'd laid a protective hand over.

Her eyes searched the audience and Severus smiled - not only because Johannes Praetorius would have done so, but because he really looked forward to having Hermione back. For a second she seemed confused - as always when she looked at the disguised Severus, but then she smiled back - and seeing Albus seating next to Severus, Hermione's smile became a beam so bright, Severus thought it would lighten up the entire hall.

The French minister started with his speech, but Severus didn't listen. Instead he let his gaze wander through the hall and over the Beauxbaton pupils who had gathered around oe lee left and right side, flanked by their teachers. His eyes caught a bright smile by a well-equipped blonde in a light blue robe - obviously she knew Johannes Praetorius. Severus felt his heart once again speeding up. The blonde looked as if she'd wait for the ceremony's end to come over and to talk with him. Damn Johannes Praetorius and his looks and his womanizing! Severus wouldn't have wondered if the blonde was one of Praetorius' affairs - and what, the hell, was he to do with her? He could hardly dwell in sweet memories with her when having not the slightest clue about Johannes' relationship with the person!

Albus, instead of helping, was so busy with his flirting with Hermione; he obviously even didn't notice Severus sweating blood and water. But he hadn't been Severus' teacher for nothing. Cautiously tugging at the wand Albus had organised for him - and no, Severus hadn't asked how Albus had got a spare and obviously unregistered wand - he directed it with a slow movement of his elbow against Albus and, hardly moving his lip, cast a "legilimens".

Entering Albus' mind wasn't new for Severus. He'd done so a hundred times before - first during his legilimens training with Albus as his teacher, later, when coming back exhausted or injured from a death eater gathering, Albus had often allowed him to do so for sharing information. So Severus was use with finding his being surrounded by - no, not thoughts and memories, because Albus was too good in occlumeny to give a legilimens a chance to gather any information from him without his permission, but a bright, warm light. It felt as the sun on a golden October day - not burning, but pleasant and peaceful. Sometimes when in distress and desperate, Albus had allowed Severus to rest in this warmth, a few times Albus had even used the quiet and solitude of his mind to make Severus sleep.

But now Severus wanted neither rest nor peace, but his friends' attention and so he sent him an urgent "Albus, I'm in trouble!"

The answer came prompt: "Yes, child?"

"The blonde teacher at the left - I think she's another affair of your damned cousin!" Severus thought.

Albus didn't move his head. He only let his gaze wander to the left where the blonde played with her long hair. "Toothsome sweetheart," he gave then back.

Severus once again would have liked to throttle Albus. He sometimes really was nerve shattering. "You look at your wife!" he hissed in his mind.

"Oh, I do - and isn't she a beauty? Only she looks a bit pale and tired. We must make her eat and rest a lot when she's at home finally," Albus thought.

"Damn you, Albus - the blonde! What am I to do if she makes a pass on me?" Severus ranted.

Albus let his gaze wander again, this time to the right. "The redhead in the green robes looks pretty too," he stated then. "Nice legs ... and the bobs aren't too bad either ..."

"ALBUS!" Severus needed discipline for not turning his eyes and kicking Albus' shinbone. "You're a married man!"

"This doesn't make me blind, you know? And the redhead is really nice to look at."

"Shall I tell Hermione?"

"I'm sure she'd agree." Albus managed to sound even though amused. "But I didn't think of flirting myself with the redhead. I thought of you, child. You know, the best way to avoid unwelcome advances from a ladyays ays is to flirt with another."

"You must know!" Severus sighed in thoughts.

"Indeed, I do." Albus seemed to chuckle. "And you're to learn."

"Oh, shut up, Albus!" Severus sighed and closed the connection. He'd heard not only once, but hundred times too often that he should start to have a love life over the last years. He really didn't need more of it, but for the sake of not blowing his cover, he looked at the redhead in question. He didn't like very much what he saw. The lady was for once a good bit older than he was and she reminded him very much of Molly Weasley. As much as Severus liked her: Flirting with Molly would feel like flirting with one's own mother. And if Albus thought he should keep Johannes' flirting in the family, then Severus had a better idea for a partner.

Connecting his mind with Albus again, Severus thought sweetly: "Albus, the redhead isn't my type. She's more in your league, you know?"

Albus seemed to chuckle again. "I'm not allowed to have a favourite league anymore, Severus. As you just reminded me: I'm starting in the couple's competition now."

"And a nice partner you've got," Severus gave back. "Would you mind if I'd flirt a bit with her? I mean it would all stay in the family, wouldn't it?"

"I've always knew you've got great taste, child," Albus gave back.

Severus liked how cheerful this thought felt. He hadn't doubt that Albus trusted him entirely, but to learn again that he trusted Hermione too, was pleasant. It showed Severus once more that the old man really had found love and happiness.

Closing the connection a second time, Severus looked up to Hermione. She was watching now for Madame Maxine calling her and reading loud the grades. But her attention was split - she always looked from the headmistress to her husband and back again. Severus grinned - as Johannes he could do so openly. He'd never thought it possible that Hermione would find one day something more important than her grade and he was sure: If he'd prophesied her only half a year before that she'd spend half her NEWT celebration in flirting with a man she'd probably declared him insane.

Yet the light in her eyes made it not only easy, but almost inevitable to smile at her too and she noticed it and gave him a big smile back before she once again looked at Albus. Now Madame Maxine was through with "Yvert, Patricia" and she laid her list aside and enrolled a single piece of parchment, calling out loud: "Our guest from Hogwarts school of wizardry and witchcraft in Scotland: Hermione Granger-Dumbledore."

Hermione stepped at the front - and now she looked a bit nervous and then she smile at Albus and Severus seeming to ask for confidence.

Madame Maxine took Hermione's hand and shaking it with so much force, Severus feared she'd made Hermione lose ground with it, she cried: "Congratulations, Madame Dumbledore! You did outstandingly well. You're an honour for your school and your teachers and Beauxbaton was proud to have you for your NEWTs."

Severus saw that a few of Madame's own students turned their eyes. Obviously they didn't like very much to have the guest student as the star of the ceremony. But out of the corner of his eyes Severus caught a smirk by a student in the group of the sixth years: A blonde, grey eyed boy who looked proud. Severus started almost to choke. Malfoy beiroudroud for being Hermione's schoolmate - Severus would have never believed he'd live up to this day! This was worth dying for - especially when he could have so much fun as a body! It only was a pity he couldn't afford to look too long at Malfoy - as Johannes Praetorius he didn't know the brat and therefore shouldn't make himself suspicious. But he could look at Hermione and so he did. She was happy - she looked as if she'd like to dance in joy. Clutching her degree with the one and still protecting her belly with the other hand she fidgeted through the endless rest of the ceremony, her only distraction obviously the flirting with Albus and Severus she managed virtuously.

Severus felt how he himself became nervous and even Albus shuffled his feet and plaited his beard - always a sign of impatience by him. As the ceremony at last was over, Albus was even quicker on his feet than Severus, using his imposing figure - this day in blue and gold - to make way through the crowd for Severus and himself. Yet they hadn't to march all through the hall. Hermione ran like a hare through the crowd, waving her degree, beaming and crying the same time. "Albus!" She almost jumped at him, throwing her arms around his neck, searching his mouth for a kiss and babbling in the same time: "I've made it! I've really made it! Are you proud? Outstandin ain all, except charms, but only because I was so nervous and the baby just in that moment decided to wriggle, but I've still got an 'excellent' and in potion I got extra points and in transfiguration a 'summa cum laude' for my swan and they said it's the first in ten years and I should become a transfigurations mistress and oh heavens, I missed you so much during these weeks and you too, Johannes ..." As always, when addressing Severus as 'Johannes' she seemed for a moment to hesitate, but it didn't really stop word tumbling out of her mouth: "...but you really could have owled a bit more often - both of you, I mean!"

Albus, still holding her in his arms, smiled and looked quickly at Severus. "We're terribly proud of you, Hermione," he said. "And we're very happy to get you back now. Johannes even bought flowers on the market yesterday for decorating your room ..."

"He did?" Hermione beamed at Severus, let Albus loose and hugged Severus, whispering in his ear: "Don't run away, Johannes" - with special pronunciation of the name.

"I don't want to," Severus answered, hugging her back for a moment.

"Even now when I name you a sweetie for buying flowers?" Hermione asked her eyes full of mischief.

"I only did because I didn't want you to hex Albus for forgetting it," Severus grinned - and found suddenly, that being Johannes Praetorius really had its advantages. He'd have never been so cheerful in his own skin.

Hermione raised her head and studied Albus', stroking his cheek with one finger. "I know, you were terribly busy," she said. And looking worryingly at him, she added: "You're tired, aren't you? Didn't you sleep enough?" Turning to Severus, she said accusingly: "I thought you'd look after him!"

Severus could only laugh. Wasn't this typical? "You know, Hermione, your dear husband has got a mind of his own. And with me not being in Hogwarts to baby sit him during his last days there ..."

Now Hermione's face became serious and her voice quiet. "Was it hard, s? Ys? You know, I'd have rather liked you'd have waited with your leaving until I'm back."

Albus smiled, but his eyes didn't twinkle. "It was right how it was. But now, with all of us out of school - what do you think about a day off? The weather's quite nice, we could have a picnic on the meadow down the river - if you don't want to stay for the feast here, that's."

Hermione took his and Severus' arm. "I hoped already Johannes and I could over vote you if you'd have wanted toy."  
y."

"I don't. I'd rather like being out of duty - especially with my wife at last back home." Albus looked at Severus. "Johannes, what do you think? Would you help Hermione to collect her belongings while I say my farewell to Madame Maxine? We could meet then in half hour at the gates."

"Sounds like a plan." Severus bowed to Hermione. "Madame Dumbledore, m off offer my services to you? Irettretty good in shrinking and levitation charms."  
"You are?" Hermione stroked once over Albus' arm, and then she laid her hand on the arm Severus offered her. "Aren't you a potion master, Professor Praetorius?"

"Yes, I am." Severus led Hermione through the hall, cautiously avoiding looking at the blonde.

"Funny," Hermione said. "I've ever thought potion masters don't like silly wand waving."

Severus laughed - and yes, it felt good to laugh so freely. "Only when they're in potion making, dear lady," he answered,mbinmbing with her up the gorgeous stairs which led to the Beauxbaton's guest quarters. Looking around in the white and golden baroque hall, he said quietly: "Pretty different here ..."

"Oh yes." Hermione sighed. "I missed home very much. The two weeks seemed endless." And tugging on his sleeve, she proceeded: "You know, you really could have written a bit more often. I longed so much for information."

"Didn't Albus owl you daily?" Severus asked amazed. "And some days emoremore? Woopy already complained that she had to call for post owls twice a day because the mansions owls were always on their way to Beauxbaton."

"Yes, yes." Hermione turned her eyes. "The other students laughed already because I got at least twice a day a parcel. Albus and Woopy sent me books and sweets and warm socks and pickles and home made cakes and behaved as if one could starve and freeze to death here. But Albus' mails were mostly two liners: 'Dear, thanks for your letter. I'm glad you and the baby are well. We're well too, only I'm very busy ..." Sighing she commented: "I could have killed Malfoy! With every owl I got he made nasty comments about 'fluffy love letters' and asked me through the entire hall how much kisses my husband had sent and if I didn't mind always getting hairy kisses."

"He's an idiot, Hermione," Severus stated curtly.

They'd reached the room now Hermione haed ted the last two weeks and closing the door behind them, Hermione looked seriously at Severus. "Unfortunately Harry, Ron and Ginny aren't big writers either, but Ron wrote something about 'Umbridge trouble at Hogwarts' again. What happened?"

"Nothing Albus wouldn't have been prepared for." Severus started to shrink the neatly packed bags which stood on the bed. "You know how happy Fudge looked as Albus announced his retirement by the funeral. Yet the idea of getting Minerva as Albus' successor he didn't like. So he tried once again to install Umbrigde as headmistress. And she didn't know better than to appear immediately - with decree No. 1256 or so - in Hogwarts and treated Albus with suing him for neglect of duties if he wouldn't open the wards of his office this time ..."

"What an outrage!" Hermione was furious. "Will this woman never learn her lesson?"

"Oh, I'm sure she will." Severus grinned. "A part of it Fudge and her got already - the governors' board told them they wanted Minerva and theyesigesign at once if Fudge would try to overpower them - but not without telling the press why they thought his candidate was unsuitable. Fudge had to row back once again and Minerva got the pleasure to kick Umbridge out for good. I'm sure she enjoyed it immensely." He shrank the last bag on the bed to the size of a matchbox and put it in an inner pocket of his forest green robes. "Ready?" he asked then.

Hermione looked around, and then she smiled at him. "I don't think I'iss iss this. But in a way I'll miss Hogwarts."

"You'll come back, I think," Severus said and marched to the door. "And besides I'm sure: You'll like to live in the mansion."

"Do you?" Hermione asked as she went down the steps with him.

Severus sighed. "Yes," he answered then. "I do. I like the peace there. I like sitting in the library without being disturbed twice in five minutes. I like meals in solitude and I like loitering in the garden without 100 eyes watching me."

"I think I'm going to like that too," Hermione answered after a little moment of considering. "I only don't know ..." she chewed once again at her under lip.  
Severus understood. Opening the hall's door for her, he quietly said: "In the moment he looks forward to having you with him again and he's glad he's got a few days off to spend them with you. And then, with the new project ..." Though they were out of the chateau and walking through the garden Sev Severus was careful with what he said - one could never know who stood behind the next bush, listening. "I think he'll get enough excitement even for his need." 

Severus had been right once again - and what concerned him: He soon had the feeling that even Albus got much more "excitement" than he'd have ever asked for.

The first three days after Hermione's home coming had been very quiet. They had enjoyed their picnic on teadoeadow and Albus, for once not wearing robes, but a muggle shirt and light trousers, had made it clear that he wouldn't like them talking "business". So they'd chatted about this and that, laughed and ate together until Hermione had, lying on the blanket with her head in Albus' lap, had fallen asleep. Severus and Albus hadn't wanted to disturb her slumber, so they hadn't spoken, but only know and then smiled at each other until Hermione suddenly had stretchnd snd said with a still sleepy voice: "I've had such a nice dream ..." Opening her eyes, she'd smiled at Albus. "The best thing about: It wasn't a dream. You're really here ..."

Severus had taken his leave then. He'd started to work on a potion project - after years of teaching and only brewing potions for the Hogwarts infirmary the first time he was working on an invention again - and he'd enjoyed the quiet hours he could spend in the mansion's lab. Albus had it years ago set up for his own work and in contrast to most other potion masters who worked in cellars and dungeons because a lot of the ingredients were best stored in cool and dark surroundings, Albus had chosen the attic of the big, old house for his work room. With specially warded closets it wasn't a problem to keep ingredients there and though Severus had felt odd as he'd worked for the first time in the light floated lab - by now he liked it very much to have a look through one of the big windows now and then.

Sometimes he thought by it, that the Dumbledore mansion felt more like a home to him than every other place he'd ever been. Snape Hall, the house he'd spent his sad childhood in, never had felt like home - it was more like a dark, forbidding prison, haunted by too much ghosts and memories. Even the living people - his father and his second wife, the always frightened Lara - had behaved like ghosts and Severus couldn't remember he'd ever heard some one laugh at Snape Hall. He'd hated the place and therefore he'd sold it immediately after his father's death, feeling deep satisfaction by it.

Yet Hogwarts, although Severus had spent most of his life there, hadn't felt like home either. Severus really never had liked teaching - and his rather cruel manners against his pupils had their source at his deep doubts against his own abilities as a teacher. cialcially in his first years he'd sometimes feared potion classes more than death eater meetings and he'd often found himself bathed in cold sweat in the middle of the night because he'd had a nightmare about an incident in one of his classes. The worse part of such dreams always had been the disappointment in Albus' eyes and often over the days Severus had felt like a prisoner between a rock and a hard place: Without terrorizing his pupils he wouldn't have managed to keep them so much in line as he thought it was necessary with potions. Yet he'd knew that Albus got a lot of howlers from parents who weren't in agreement with the potion master's teaching methods and he knew too, that becoming Hogwarts most feared teacher certainly wasn't what Albus had expected from him. So he'd lived his first years in the fear that one day soon Albus would lose his patience with him. Every time when Albus had come down in the dungeons or had asked Severus for a visit in his office, Severus had almost expected he would get to hear an "I'm sorry, Ses, bs, but ..."

Albus had never lost patience and so Severus had become more secure. Nevertheless: Hogwarts hadn't felt like "home" to him. Yet the mansion - Severus remembered how Albus had invited him first there shortly after Voldemort's first downfall. Until then Severus had - as probably every pureblood wizard from one of the old families - knew, that the Dumbledores owned a great mansion and a lot of land around it, but with Albus always being at Hogwarts, Severus had never ght ght much about it. The bigger had been his surprise to be invited and to learn, that Dumbledore Hall wasn't a dark, old shag as Snape Hall, but a dainty, rococo building with little towers and niches and bright halls with ceilings on which an entire gods' community, mostly very lightly clothed, chased each other cheerfully around. And instead of forbidding looking wizards in dark paintings the portraits of the Dumbledore ancestors wore bright robes and were rarely in their own frames, but gathering on a big painting of the hall's garden where they seemed to celebrate an eternal picnic.  
And there was music all over the place - in almost every room hung one painting with musicians and one had only politely to ask for getting a concerto. In his first summer at Dumbledore Hall Severus had spent hours with the musicians. He'd gone from one room to the other, listening to the organ player in the library, the flutist in the garden room, the chamber orchestra in the dinning hall - they played mostly Mozart and Severus fell entirely love with the 41. Symphony - and the very beautiful singer in his guest room who had been a great star at the opera in Milano once and who'd love to sing not only opera arias, but the sweet melodies of the songs Johann Sebastian Bach had once written for his wife. But what had Severus even more with the musicians, had been the bowling alley in the cellar - and that he really liked playing bowling with Albus and his brother Aberforth.

Aberforth - he'd been part of what Severus loved about Dumbledore Hall. Severus had first pitied the man. To be a Dumbledore - son and grandson and great grandson of strong wizards - without possessing real magic of his own, living in the shadow of a younger brother who was named the greatest wizard alive - Severus thought this a fate worse then his own. But he'd soon learned that Aberforth Dumbledore was a happy man. He loved the garden, he was happy with working there all day, humming cheerfully. Sometimes he gave himself a break, and then he would sit at one of the benches, peacefully smoking his pipe and chatting with one of the statues. He loved Albus and was happy when he was at home, he enjoyed sitting with him and Severus in front of a fireplace, drinking wine and listening to what both wizards had to tell from the world outside the mansion, but he obviously didn't feel a need to see much of it himself. And sometimes Severus had almost envied Aberforth for the peace he'd obviously found in himself.

Two years ago, in summer, he was gone, so quiet and peaceful as he had lived. One morning one of the house elves had found him on a bench in the gardens, his pipe still warm, and a smile on his face. As Severus had come down, Albus had stood bent over Aberforth, kissing his head and murmuring: "Dear brother ..."

The day after Severus and Albus had buried Aberforth Dumbledore on the little graveyard in the garden, on the left side of the grave Albus' parents shared. Severus had been furious with the entire wizard's world then because nobody except Minerva and Augustus McGonagall had found it necessary to come. And reading in the "Daily Prophet" not more than a tiny notice, that Albus Dumbledore's brother had died - not even his own name had stood there - had made Severus fume even more.

Since then Severus sometimes stood on Aberforth's grave - probably the only living soul who ever went there because Albus never was one for looking back - and sometimes he'd even found himself quietly talking to the white stone with the name "Aberforth Lancelot Lawrence Eric Dumbledore, 1840-2004".

What would Aberforth have said to the storm his "little bro" - as he'd called Albus who in fact had been even taller than Aberforth - had produced only a week before? Probably, Severus thought, the elder Dumbledore, would have said nothing, but smi smiled. But in the contrast to Severus, who was a pessimist and always preparing for the worse case, Aberforth wouldn't have doubt for a second that Albus would succeed in his plan.

Severus didn't think they have had a good start with it. Sure, it had been fun to see Fudge's face as old Crackebell, the 198 old doyen of the Wizengamot, had at the end of a rather boring meeting, slowly had raised to say with his old, cranky voice: "Minister, the members of our High Council havcidecided to present a candidate of our own for the upcoming election ..." and, after this very formal announcement, had sat down with a chuckle: "We thought you should know, luv ..."

Severus - once again disguised as Johannes Praetorius - had sat with Hermione on the gallery and they hadh enh enjoyed how Fudge had got the right idea without delay. Cracklebell almost hadn't finished, as Fudge had already jumped on his feet, looking like 'a tomato which is just about to become ketchup', as Hermione had said, pointing with his finger on Albus who'd smiled up at Hermione as if he wouldn't think of something else than shopping phases with her.

Fudge had been so furious, speech had failed him. Panting like a dog on a hot summer day, he'd stammered: "You ... you ... Du ... Du ... Dumbledore!"

Albus had once again smiled at Hermione, the he had turned his head and with the benevolent smile he'd in former times used for exceptionally thick students, had friendly answered: "Yes, Cornelius?"

"You ... You ..." Fudge hadn't still managed to speak properly. "You did it! You ... you... Dumbledore, you ... are ..." The minister had struggled for breath once again. "You're the candidate Cracklebell was talking about!"

"Yes, Cornelius, I am," Albus had stated.

"But you are 163 years old!" Fudge had shouted - and with this proved once again, how much of an idiot he was, Severus thought. Most of the members of the Wizengamot were in Albus' age, some of them were even a few years older. To show them that the minister found them too old, certainly wouldn't bring him points. And Severus hadn't wondered that Augusta Shacklebolt, mother of Rosmerta and grandmother of auror Kingsley, and with 164 still a very ebullient woman had felt a need to give the minister a good piece of her mind. Albus had stopped her with one look before he'd said - still in his most calm and polite tone: "My father ..." Severus surely wasn't the only one who remembered Artus Dumbledore had been one of the most beloved and successful ministers the British wizard community had ever had.

Albus had cheerfully proceeded: "... always found I'm a bit slow ..."

Next to Severus Hermione had started to choke - probably because she'd never, even in thinking about for a fortnight, would have come to the idea, that her husband could be "slow".

In this point she was probably for once in agreement with Fudge. He had looked at Albus with pure hatred in his eyes. "I've always knew, you're after my job!" he accused then.

"But you were wrong," Albus smiled. "I was not after your job for years, dear Cornelius. I liked being Headmaster of Hogwarts very much and ..." now Albus had risen too and once again he seemed to radiate sheer power, "... I would never have thought of becoming minister of magic myself if you wouldn't have made such a glorious mess! I've warned you more then once, Cornelius Fudge, but then you showed once again that you think more about you than the people you serve."

The glove was in the ring, but Fudge hadn't had the courage to take it up. Instead he'd fled and by running out Severus had heard him say: "You'll see what you'll get from that, Dumbledore, you'll see!"

In this he'd kept his word. The next day the scene in the Wizengamot had made headlines in the "Daily Prophet" and directly under the "exclusive reportage by our correspondent Rita Skeeter" the British wizard community had got an article with the headline: "Hogwarts former headmaster - a wizard with two faces?"

In the article the readers had learned that Albus Dumbledore never had liked "playing after the rules", therefore - so the article - he'd once been expelled from the Wizengamot. About this line Hermione had fumed for almost all day, ranting: "For how stupid they want to sell their readers? If the Wizengamot wouldn't have learned about this being a mistake, they hardly would have presented Albus as their candidate now, wouldn't they?"

Albus had only laughed about the entire article. His only comment had been: "If Fudge can't do better, this is going to be a boring election campaign." Afterwards he'd kissed his wife, asked Severus to look after her and had gone to a meeting.

Severus had made a mistake then - so he thought by now. He'd wanted to cheer up Hermione and because he loved the freedom the Johannes disguise gave him, he'd asked her for a shopping tour in Diagon Alley. And it had been a pleasant afternoon with buying potion ingredients, rummaging in the book shop, eating ice cream and even getting a few jumpers. Hermione and Severus had have fun by strolling with her hand on his through the wizard's district.

Yet the next day by breakfast their good mood had once again been spoilt by the "Daily Prophet" and his headline: "Albus Dumbledore - the private man". Severus who'd been first up in the morning, would have liked to burn the newspaper before Hermione could read the article and he'd even felt furious against at Albus. Merlin's beard - had the man during his younger days done nothing than hopping from one bed into the next? His record, neatly listed by the newspaper - Severus thought it could have made Don Juan pale in envy! It ran almost over one page and started in 1859 with 16 year old Albus becoming threatened with expulsion from Hogwarts because of being "caught in flagrante delicto" in the head girl's bedchamber. Only two years later he'd appeared first time in front of the chamber of rights as the adulterer in a divorce. In 1862 - now 19 year old - he'd been sacked as apprentice by his first potion master because he'd seduced his employer's wife. Two years later the next appearance in the chamber - a young witch had sued him for "breach of marriage promise". Dumbledore senior had talked his offspring out, but - as the "Daily Prophet" knew from "well informed sources" - he'd paid a big sum for calming down the witch in question.

In 1865 22 year old Albus had caused the next scandal - he'd run away with the wife of a famous quidditch star. Obviously the affair hadn't kept long because in 1868 Albus had announced his engagement with an Italian witch. The "Daily Prophet" had even found a picture of the happy couple and Severus had to admit: The fiancé of his friend had been a breath taking beauty. Only her beauty hadn't stopped Albus from cheating on her and because the Italian beauty obviously had got a lot of temper, the "Daily Prophet" could quote the interview from the Roman wizards newspaper where the beauty had advised the English minister that he either should keep his "sexual maniac of a son" on a short lash or mark him with a sign "Can't keep his robe down".

As Severus had reached this part of the story, the culprit himself had appeared and looking over Severus' shoulder, cheerfully said: "Oh - they've found that old picture. Lucia was a toothsome lass, wasn't she? Only she was a bit too jealous. As she found my with her girlfriend she went totally berserk." He'd chuckled. "She really almost castrated me."

"What a loss for the female part of mankind this would have been!" Severus had hissed and throwing the newspapers on the table, he'd said: "I really don't want to spoil your day, Albus, but how will you explain this to your wife?"

"What will Albus explain to me?" Hermione had appeared just at this moment, once again showing her perfect timing.

Severus had with regret looked at the table. Although he still didn't eat more than toast at breakfast, he really liked the fine china the other dishes were served on. The idea of kipper and plate sailing over the table, joined by a bowl with steaming porridge didn't appeal to him and the only comfort he could find in expectation of the up coming thunderstorm was the thought that Albus, when becoming target of kipper, porridge and eggs, probably would think again about his folly for women with a temper.

Albus didn't seem to fear flying breakfast. Smiling at Hermione he said: "Severus thinks you believe yourself married to Saint Albus the Chaste."

Hermione laughed and laid her hand on her now already a bit swollen belly. Grinning at Severus she said: "Really? Then I should perhaps tell you the story about the little flowers and the bees ..."

"Oh thank you very much!" Severus sounded as in his worse days in a potion class. "The 'Daily Prophet' cares rather well for my - admittedly rather small - need for tales at breakfast." He looked accusingly at Albus. "What will you do now?"

Albus just took a slice of toast and with a wave of his finger, spread butter and jam on it. Biting in it he said: "I thought of breakfast, then a little walk with Hermione - you know, baby and her need to get a bit of fresh air ..."

"Albus!" Severus shouted. "What about this story?"

Hermione, cutting an apple to pieces, had taken the newspaper, leaned it against the tea pot and just read it. Shaking her head, she said: "Dear me! Don't they have anything newer? They obviously even didn't know about your relationship with Rosmerta Shacklebolt. I mean, who cares about, with whom Albus shared a mattress in the middle age?"

Albus, stealing a slice of apple from her plate, grinned. "As long as they don't come after my affair with Queen Ginevra ..."

"Who?" Severus asked curtly.

"Queen Ginevra - King Arthur's wife," Albus explained cheerfully. "You know, it wasn't that boring Lancelot. It was me, disguised as ..."

Severus got finally pushed too much. Banging his fist on the table, he shouted: "This is not in the least funny, Albus. Your troubled past can ruin your chances to win the election. And then we're in real trouble! So forgive me if the humour of this fails me ..."

Hermione certainly didn't like some one shouting at her husband - even if it was his best friend. Rather sharply she said: "I actually can't remember humour not failing you, Severus. Besides: Did you ever use a muggle toothpaste?"

"A muggle toothpaste?" Severus had thought that after 30 years in the company of one Albus Dumbledore strange associations would be familiar to him, but Hermione had managed to make him flabbergasted. "I can't for the world think what a muggle toothpaste has to with our problem," he grumbled.

"A lot, dear Severus," Hermione answered with her sweetest smile. "You know, muggle toothpaste comes in a tube. You know, what a tube is, do you?"

Severus felt like bursting and therefore only sneered at her.

Hermione smiled again. "I see, you know. But did you ever try to get something back in a tube?"

"Of course I didn't," hissed Severus.

"You see? That's what rumours and muggle toothpaste have in common. Once out, you can't get them in again," Hermione explained. "You'll have to find another way of dealing with the mess."

Severus hadn't thought he'd ever feel so deflated at breakfast. Raising his hands, he sighed: "Well, well - then let's deal with the mess. Albus, you'll have something to say to that."

"Do I?" Albus raised an eye brow. "I actually don't think so. I can't deny I have what you call 'a troubled past'. But I certainly won't feel sorry about it."

Hermione was now finished with the article. Folding the newspapers, she threw it back on the table. "Crap!" she grumbled and looked then at Severus. "But it's all about Albus' young days. And young people ..." she sounded as if she were an ancient witch herself, "... make mistakes. Albus was perhaps a bit too much in to women, but other young men did worse ..." She fell silent, but looked serious at Severus.

He felt like being stabbed with a knife. "Yes," he said slowly. "Other young men did worse. They became death eaters." He rose and threw his napkin on the table. "If you may excuse me? I've lost my appetite."

"Severus!" Albus' voice was sharp and commanding. "For Merlin's sake – sit down on your butt and let's talk like adults!"

Severus felt too much hurt. Still standing with his back to the table he said: "Why don't you tell Hermione? She started this!"

"Who behaved the prude, treating Albus like ..." Hermione promptly shouted.

"Merlin's balls!" Now Albus really sounded angry. "Must I send the two of you back to the kindergarten? Stop this immediately! We're just on the start of the election campaign. If you can't stand this, then tell me now - both of you. Then I'll send you to a long holiday to South America or where ever you can battle with each other without getting on my nerves!"

Severus turned around and looked at Hermione, who chewed on her under lip. "I apologize," he sneered. "I was perhaps a bit too touchy ..."

Hermione sunk her head. "And I was perhaps a bit snappy. Sorry, Severus ..."

"That's better!" Albus praised. "Now sit down, Severus, and eat. And promise me something - both of you: Whatever the 'Daily Prophet' comes up with tomorrow - you won't battle about it!"

Severus wouldn't have thought he'd ever give Albus a promise so easy to keep. But the next day started with Hermione - this morning she'd been the first coming down to breakfast - bursting in his room with the furious scream: "I'll kill her! And I won't use a clear, nice killing curse to do so, but I'll strike her to death with a fly swat!"

Severus, never a morning person and especially not after an evening with Albus and two bottles of Chardonnay, almost sympathized with who ever Hermione's potential victim was. But as Hermione threw the "Daily Prophet" on his blanket and he saw the headline, he suddenly felt not only wide awake, but like doing magic - such as conjuring a fly swat for Hermione. The newspaper's headline read: "A modern marriage? Who's the father of Hermione Dumbledore's child?" And as the cherry on top the "Daily Prophet" showed its readers a very nice picture of Hermione, smiling up to Severus-Johannes, her hand in his arm and he carrying a bag with the inscription "All for little wizards - Madame Diddleweddle's baby shop."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: The Taming of the Shrew

Even in Artus Dumbledore's days - and it was said that Albus' father had been a very hospitable man - breakfast in Dumbledore Hall had rarely been such a public affair as on May 15, 2006 after the "Daily Prophet" had published the article about Hermione.

It had been a piece almost as long as the last about Albus' youth sins and it was decorated with even more pictures: Hermione, standing behind Harry, her hand on his shoulder; Hermione, dancing with Severus at the Yule Ball; Hermione, walking through Diagon Alley, holding hands with Victor Krum; Hermione at Hogwarts on the quidditch pitch, whispering something in Ron Weasley's ear and Hermione, just turning away with a rather grim look from her husband who wrinkled his forehead and looked severe (the picture had been taken by Severfakefake fun jus just after Fudge's speech. Hermione had fumed so much that Albus had ordered her via legilimens not to hex the minister).

The text had been even worse: Rita Skeeter had started with reminding her readers of Hermione being muggle-born and the daughter of a "working woman", therefore probably a very "emancipated young lady" who'd always shown that she liked to live her life in "her own, advanced ways". Even in "very young years" she'd proven herself a "feminist" in her dealing with boys - so Skeeter had written. A list with Hermione's "love affairs" to prove it was next. Following it, Hermione had first "broken Harry Potter's heart", and then she'd dated Ron Weasley before she'd left "the poor boy for the famous and wealthy quidditch champion Victor Krum". But, so Skeeter told her readers, the "handsome Bulgarian wizard's devotion" hadn't been enough for Hermione. She'd left him for a "secret relationship"with D Mal Malfoy, "heir of one of the most rich and famous British wizard family's" and done the seducing of the "Britain's most demanded bachelor" so well, that he'd proposed to her "on his knee". His father was quoted: "I wasn't too happy about Draco's choice - not because the girl's muggle born, but because I never believed in her ability to make my son a happy man. Yet he was so much in love, so I agreed and was willing to take up the girl with open arms." Only Hermione hadn't fielded to her enchanted admirer, but married Albus Dumbledore, "the famous, very rich and 163 year old headmaster of her school, known for being eccentric" - so eccentric he hadn't demanded the "usual" fidelity charm at the binding.

Reading this piece Hermione had needed an explanation from Severus because she'd never heard about a fidelity charm. Severus of course knew about it - he'd once seen his father casting this charm over his second wife, making sure with it, that she could never touch another man than him intimately without her marriage ring - a ring she of course couldn't take off - burning a wound on her finger. Hermione had found this charm "ghastly" - like marking stock! And she couldn't believe it was "usual". Severus had to tell her, that a lot of wizards used it - and they would believe that Albus not casting it meant that he didn't expect his young wife being faithful to him, but was willing to accept her having lovers.

And one of them - so the article - probably had been Severus Snape, who's death had been so "mysterious". Skeeter wrote: "Shortly before Severus Snape died, Hermione Granger-Dumbledore was seen flirting with her husband's cousin, German potion master Johannes Praetorius. Rumours in Hogwarts tell about a scene between the two men - a jealous tragedy? A friend of Sus Sus Snape who wants to remain anonym says: "He was very depressed in his last days. I wouldn't wonder if he committed suicide."

Skeeter wasn't done with that. Her article went on: "Under these circumstances the question arises: Who's the father of the child Albus Dumbledore obviously wants to present as his heir? Is it really the 163 year old wizard who never sired a child in his life? Or was it Hogwarts' late Potion Master Severus Snape, who taught young Hermione Dumbledore extra lessons in the weeks before his demise? Or is it even German Potion Master Johannes Praetorius who lives with Hogwarts former headmaster and his attractive wife at Dumbledore Hall? Albus Dumbledore, who wants to become the next minister of magic, will have to answer these questions. Until he does so, his moral standards will have to be doubted and with them his suitability for an office as honourable as the ministers."

At least: No one could doubt the article mad deep impression. Hermione had just left Severus for going down at the breakfast table again, as a rather flustered Woopy appeared and announced that Mistress and Mister Weasley had apparated at the gates and were just walking up to the hall and if Woopy should wake the master? Hermione actually wanted very much to talk with Albus, but he'd been up all night, planning his campaign with Severus and her. So she answered with a sigh: "Let him sleep, Woopy. He'll learn soon enough." And rising she marched to the French window. "I'm going to welcome the Weasleys."

Walking in the garden, Hermione was almost overrun by a furious Molly Weasley who pulled her in a tight embrace, crying and ranting at once: "Poor Darling" You must feel dreadful! As I saw this terrible article, I said at once to Arthur, that we had to see you - you can't be alone now."

Her float of words became interrupted by Woopy who appeared with a "plop", her ears flapping: "Headmistress Minerva and Mister Augustus McGonagall just have arrived at the gates."

And then Minerva stormed already through the garden, her green robe billowing as Severus' in his best days, screaming: "It's an outrage! What does this woman think?"

Her husband was a bit calmer, but sounded very determined as he said: "You'll sue the Prophet of course. We'll make them pay for that and I'm to make sure this Skeeter person won't write another article again in her life time!"

Hermione didn't get a chance to answer because five owls just came in low-attitude fly through the garden. Four of them approached the house, but one - Harry's beautiful snow white Hedwig - landed on Hermione's arm. As Hermione just had untied the letter on Hedwig's leg, Woopy demanded her attention again: "Miss Nymphadora Tonks and Mister Kingsley Shacklebolt just arri ..." stopping in mid word, she let again flap her ears: "Mister Alastor Moody and Mistress Augusta Shacklebolt are the ..." For a second time the elf didn't manage to finish, but had to say rather weary: "Mister Honorius Cracklebell and Mistress Lucasta Cracke ... and Mister Remus Lupin ..."

Five Minutes later Hermione shepherded a crowd of no less then 22 excitingly talking and ranting witches and wizards into the hall, hoping fiercely that a) the four house elves down in the kitchen would manage to serve tea and at least a little breakfast for all, that b) Severus had noticed the house was full of people and would therefore appear as Johannes, that c) Albus would be down soon and that d) Baby would stop proving itself as a true Dumbledore so much. It obviously loved the excitement and therefore rummaged in Hermione's womb as a quidditch champion by hunting the snitch. Hermione felt already dizzy from being talked to from all sides and she was actually glad that Molly finally noticed how pale she was and jumped on her like a lioness protecting her cub. Molly wanted to lead Hermione to a sofa on . Yet she wasn't the only Gryffindor lioness in the crowd - Augusta Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall had a go at Hermione too. Unfortunately the two of them had never got along very well, so Hermione found herself suddenly not on the sofa but in the middle of a furious row between three ladies. And while Molly, Minerva and Augusta discussed their competence in dealing with pregnant Hermione, Hermione finally fainted and became rescued by no other than Alastor Moody, who caught her, carried her out of the room to the stairs and dropped her rather unceremoniously in the arms of Severus-Johannes with roaring: "Get the chick in bed before she vomits all over the idiots down there!"

Severus hadn't been keen to show himself in the hall. So he bowed slightly, grinned, cradled Hermione closer and walked up the stairs. Hermione felt more then a little embarrassed by her weakness. She started crying and cursing the "damn hormones" until they reached the master bedroom where Albus just finished his dressing with putting up his spectacles. Seeing a crying Hermione in Severus' arms, he almost choked.

"Albus don't worry. I'm fine," Hermione said as Severus let her down on the bed, but couldn't let go his arm because the world around her was spinning - and so did Albus worried face which was bent over her.

"What happened?" Albus demanded to know.

"Hermione fainted - what's no wonder because your hall is filled with a crowd of madmen," Severus answered.

"The Daily Prophet ..." started Hermione.

Severus interrupted her. "Lay back and be quiet! You'll only make yourself more miserable."

"What's in the 'Prophet'?" Albus asked, sounding angry.

Severus, now sitting on the bedside because Hermione still had his sleeve in her grip, looked up to him. "Skeeter doubts you're the father of Hermione's baby. She suggests it's me ..."

"Which you?" Albus asked curtly.

"Both of me." Severus turned his eyes. "First Severus, then Johannes - she seems to think one potion master isn't enough for making a baby." Losing at last Hermione's hand and laying it on her belly, he said: "Perhaps you should go down for calming down the crowd, Albus - if you're able to, which I doubt. I'll look after Hermione."

Albus seemed to hesitate, looking at Hermione. She produced a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Albus."

"You are sorry? For what?" He shook his head.

"For being so weak and for the bloody picture!" Hermione cried.

Albus bent down again. Stroking her cheek he said: "You're not weak and I don't think you have a reason to be sorry. But I should rather go down ..."

"Yes, please." Hermione closed her eyes because the room spinned again. 

As Hermione waked up - the second time this morning - the sun was high on the sky, throwing bright light in the bedroom. Hermione twinkled - she'd really slept deep. The two weeks in Beauxbaton had cost her a lot of strength, not only because the exams, but more because she missed Albus and her friends there and because d fod found time to think there over the last half year in her life and about her future. She was to be a mother - and although she never doubted that she'd made the right decision with becoming pregnant, she still couldn't imagine how it would feel to be a single mother. Of course - she'd live in the Hall, she'd have every help money could buy, so it wouldn't become too big a problem to handle university and the baby. But how would she handle to live without Albus? She loved him and in the two weeks in Beauxbaton she'd already missed him dreadfully. How could she bear to know that she would never see him again, that she would never fall asleep in his arms, that she would never kiss him again, never sleep with him again? And how would she explain to her child once that it would never know its father?

It was hard to live with such thoughts and it was even harder to live with them without burdening Albus with it. He needed all his strength for what he had to do and she wouldn't make it more difficult for him. Besides: She needed the little bit of normality they'd saved through all the excitement and trouble. The little time she had left with him she didn't want to spend in tears, but in laughter and love. She'd have time to mourn later. And then she'd need all cheerful, good memories for telling her child what a man its father had been.

Yet there was a comfort - it sat just now in the high backed chair in the nice window, reading a book and was back in its form of a dark-haired, tall wizard with black eyes. Only that he didn't wear black anymore, but a rather nice mixture from muggle and wizard: Dark blue robe over jeans and light blue shirt. Hermione liked this although she knew that Severus wasn't too happy about it. He'd rather wore his usual black, but even in the Hall he wanted to be prepared for changing into the Johannes disguise at every moment.

Hermione wondered sometimes about her own reaction to Severus. As she'd first meet Johannes Praetorius she spontaneously thought: "Wow - Severus could do worse than in getting this man's appearance ..." And in the same time she'd felt a bit odd because the German wizard, though blond, reminded her very much of young Albus. He was as tall and well-proportioned as Albus, he had deep blue eyes, a long face and an energetic chin too, but his nose was smaller and so he was ever prettier than Albus had been. Hermione had immediately understood that a lot of witches were very interested in Johannes Praetorius who wasn't only handsome, but intelligent and charming too. And she was sure: If the readers of "Witch Weekly" would have to choice between Severus Snapd Jod Johannes Praetorius as the more attractive male, Severus wouldn't stand a chance. Yet one voice he would get: Hermione's. The more often she got to compare the two men, the more she liked Severus. During her time in Hogwarts she'd never noticed, but now she even liked to watch his long, slender hands with the nimble, sensitive fingers. And she liked his fine, black hair. Now, as he didn't stand all day over boiling cauldrons anymore, it wasn't greasy at all, but in the sun shimmering like a raven's wing. And the eyes - this groundless, black poles! Had she found them cold once? Unreadable? Today she saw amusement - and he was often amused! - And warmth and tenderness and his small smile and anger and wonderment and sorrow in them. Sometimes one gaze of them made her smile, sometimes she became sad because she saw the pain and bitterness he'd bared through the most part of his life.

Now he'd seen that she was awakening and laid the book aside, raising. In Hogwarts Hermione had never given much attention to his body and his movement - and even if she'd have watched, she wouldn't have seen much with him always wearing his robe and the frock coat. But now she noticed that he moved with an almost feline grace and though he'd gained a bit weight - Hermione had never liked bony men.

"Hermione?" He stood now next to her, looking down at her with a tiny smile. "Do you feel better?"

Hermione stretched. "Yes," she said. "I feel much better." She listened for a moment - the house was entirely quiet again. "Are we alone? "She asked.

Severus leaned at the mantle piece. Although he was now at ease with Hermione, he'd never have seat down at her bedside if not forced to. "Albus has fed and watered the mob, and then he kicked them out. Now Augustus and he are going to see the editor of the 'Quibbler'."

Hermione grinned. She remembered how she'd once managed to get an interview with Harry in this magazine. She'd always thought the wizard world would need a second newspaper and with it a second opinion. "Let me guess: They're going to get the 'Quibbler' to our side?"

deeddeed." Severus shoved a strand of his black hair out of his face. "Albus will feed the magazine with a few esivesive stories. Besides he is trying to get Skeeter for the Quibbler ..."

"Skeeter?" Hermione sat upright. "After this article?"

"I wouldn't want to be in her shoes when Albus gets her in his fingers," Severus said, sounding satisfied by the thought. "He really wasn't amused about her article - and you know: Meeting a cross Albus isn't what one could call 'pleasant'. I'm sure Miss Skeeter thinks new about her writing afterwards ..."

Hermione chewed on her under lip. "Severus," she said then hesitantly, "do you think he's angry with ..?" She fell silent.

Severus shook his head slowly. "No, he isn't angry with the two of us. Before he went he came up looking after you. He only worries about you. Besides he knows as well as I do that Skeeter would have tried to get at you in every case. She wouldn't have needed this photograph."

"But I've provided her with ammunition!" Hermione complained.

"Hermione," Severus sighed, "if you'd have spend all your life in a nunnery without ever seeing a man, Skeeter would have written that you're a lesbian. She wants to ruin Albus' reputation."

"But why?" Hermione rummaged in her hair. "You know, that's what I really don't understand. Does she really believe that Fudge is tter min minister than Albus?"

Severus sneered. "Sometimes you're naive, Hermione. Skeeter is a Slytherin and not one of the thick sorts. She certainly doesn't believe in Fudge being any good as minister. But he's useful to her. She can manipulate him as she never could manipulate Albus. She probably knows every skeleton in Fudge's closet with its given name, so he must cooperate and provide her with information."

"My, my - what a world we live in," Hermione sighed.

"Now you're sounding like Minerva." Severus became a bit sharper. "You don't believe the muggle world is better?"

"No, of course not." Hermione climbed out of the bed. "If I would have believed so, I would have gone months before," she reminded Severus. Plaiting her hair back, she smiled a bit weakly at him. "Would you mind going downstairs with me? I'm starving and you know, I don't like eating alone."

"I haven't had much breakfast either. So I need a bit too ..." Severus answered and followed her up the stairs.

Woopy had been delighted to serve a second breakfast and had suggested their lay the table on the terrace. She'd just appeared with fresh tea there as Hermione heard a rustle of a robe and quick steps in the garden. Albus was back and Hermione jumped immediately to her feet and ran down to him.

She had expected that he would still look angry or exhausted, but his smile was warm and his eyes rather cheerful as he opened his arms for her. "You're up and feeling better?" he asked.

Hugging him, she gave back: "Much better - and you? How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Albus said, kissing the tip of her nose. "Only I was thinking all the way back if I could send Johannes ..." when in the open air he always avoided to talk about Severus, "... and you to another shopping tour this afternoon." He laid his arm around her shoulder and led her to the terrace where Severus had already ordered a third set of china.

"Actually I don't think Johannes and I were in the mood for shopping," Hermione said, looking at Severus. "Albus considers sending us for another round," she explained to him.

Severus' left eyebrow rose. For a few seconds he looked sceptical, and then he suddenly grinned. "I'm going. I think I could look after a few rompers more. But your darling wife should be at your side, Albus. It will make a better impression."

"That's the question." Albus sat down and poured himself a cup of tea. "I don't think stunning her would do - besides its probably bad for the baby."

Hermione's eyes run from her husband to his friend and back. Sounding like Minerva on a rainy day, she said: "You know, I'm a Gryffindor and even in being a clever Gryffindor - I will probably never learn to follow the cunning of Slytherin minds. So if one of you would care to explain?"

Severus grinned and bit in an apple.

Albus sipped at his tea and added two pieces of sugar more to it. Then he smiled at Hermione almost a bit awkward: "In ...," he pulled his watch out and looked at it, "... approximately two hours a photographer and Miss Rita Skeeter, the new chief reporter of the 'Quibbler', will appear here."  
Hermione looked at her husband and shook her head. "Why do I think I really don't want to know exactly how you persuaded her to work for the 'Quibbler'?"

"Perhaps because it would remind you how you once made her write for the magazine first time?" Albus grinned. "She reminded me of it. Yet I'm nicer than you. I made sure she'll get paid for her work."

"I actually would like to know about your persuading ..." Severus grinned.

Albus got himself a spoon full of jam and sucked at it. "You know, I can be convincing, Severus, when I set my mind to it. Yet I must admit it wasnasy asy in tcasecase. Augustus and I had to use the entire repertoire from blackmail over treats to offers. But in the end we got here. She promised to be a good girl now. And because I'm a good boy, she's to get a nice home story."

"Home story?" Hermione looked very sceptical. "One of 'our reporter met Blah and his enchanting wife in their cosy, little love nest" pieces?"

"Ugh!" Severus looked as if he were to faint now. "And here I thought, my lecture for breakfast couldn't become worse. I can already imagine it: Albus smiling 'lovingly' at his wife while Hermione 'tenderly pats his hand', telling the world how proud she is of her husband ..."

"As a devoted wife I have to be proud of him." Hermione laughed. "I only don't know if I should tell the readers of the 'Quibbler' that in private I always call my husband 'my fluffy white bunny'. What do you think, dear cousin?" She grinned at Severus.

He shuddered. "For a Gryffindor you show sometimes a really amazing amount of cruelness."

Hermione grinned. "Severus, you should be careful with me. If crossed I could come to the idea of telling Skeeter that the only dark spot in our marriage idyll is missing our dear friend Severus." With the sweetest voice she proceeded: "You know, Miss Skeeter, behind his dark mask our Sevvie really hided a heart of gold. He longed so much for true love ..."

"Albus ..." Severus grumbled. "Would you mind very much if I'd throttle your sweet wife?"

"Yes, I think I would." Albus smiled.

Hermione showed Severus her tongue.

But Albus hadn't been ready. Laying his arm around her shoulder, he finished with his most boyish grin: "You know, Severus, a politician needs a wife. If you'd kill Hermione, I'd have to get myself a new one. Finding one isn't too hard, but the taming, Severus! Think of the taming!" 

Being a politician's wife probably never is easy, but during the election campaign Hermione found it especially hard. Although Albus had managed to get the "Quibbler" on his side and the "Daily Prophet" at least silenced when it came to his private life, so Hermione hadn't to fear shocks at breakfast anymore - except of the light shocks she always got when reading about herself as the "sweet" or "devoted" wife - she often wished herself back at Hogwarts. Being the headmaster's wife there had meant that she now and then had to show herself "Madame Dumbledore" by a social gathering, but mostly she'd lived her life as Hermione Granger. But now she sometimes felt as if Hermione Granger had become a vampire who only existed in the night. Over the days her presence wasn't asked because the days were filled with appointments for Madame Dumbledore.

And she was ry bry busy woman, this Madame D.! She starter der days at 7:00 h in going down to the kitchen to talk with Woopy and her fellow house elves about which guests were expected for what meals and what to serve and which china were where to lay out and if Woopy would be so good to iron the red dress robe for the evening and if Larry could manage to polish the master's black boots a bit earlier today because Albus would have to change before tea?

After the kitchen conference Hermione went to breakfast, but her chances to have her tea and toast in solitude were pretty small in these days. Albus had got himself an assistant, a young witch named Isadora Cracklebell, great-granddaughter of his old friend Honorius Cracklebell. She - so at least Severus who by now mostly hide himself in the lab - obviously thought she'd have to make up for her lack of experience with doubled eagerness and with wearing a bun and robes so old fashioned even Minerva McGonagall would have protested to show herself with. And even worse: Isadora was never without her clipboard and a quill and Hermione sometimes thought that she would have made an ideal wife to Percy Weasley because like him her idea of the biggest disaster was her superior five minutes late.

Yet at least Isadora provided Hermione and Severus in the short time when she would seek refuge in his lab, with something to laugh about. The girl seemed absolutely immune to Albus' charm and humour. Although he really tried hard to enchant her - and Albus being Albus, the born pied piper, meant he never stopped in his attempts - Isadora always remind serious and even Albus' nicest compliments never got him much more than a "You have five minutes until Mister Terribly important will come to see you, sir" or a "May I remind you, sir, that we'll have to leave for your speech at the Willy nilly club in 10 minutes?" And if Isadora was after Albus for getting him to an appointment as punctual as she thought he should be, there was nothing that could have stopped her. She kicked him without mercy out of bed; she didn't mind standing in front of his bathroom, telling him "You're already late, sir - in five minutes you'll have to see ..."; she didn't mind Severus hissing at her when she on her hunt for Albus came in his lab and she even didn't shy away when her employer obviously was busy with "private matters" as she'd proven just the other morning when Hermione had almost jumped in a rosebush because Isadora suddenly - just three minutes after Hermione had caught Albus for a little snogging in the garden - had appeared, saying: "I'm sorry to disturb, sir, ma'am, but you're expected in only 16 minutes in Edinburgh." Hermione had only been glad that Isadora hadn't come one minute later. She was sure: Even Albus with his highly developed resistance against feeling embarrassed wouldn't have liked becoming caught by his secretary with the buttons of his robe open on the strategically most interesting places. He had already struggled a bit to hide the bulge in his robe because Hermione had thought it necessary to remind him of his pretty neglected marital duties not only in kissing him passionately, but by fondling his private parts through the robe.

Thinking of it now made Hermione sigh. It had been nice to learn by his prompt reaction, that he missed her too, but to get a bit more out of this missing than a whispered "I shall see to get myself a little free time soon" would have been even nicer, especially because for the rest of the day she hadn't got another minute in private with him. Instead she'd felt in the evening as if she'd have to call Woopy for ironing the "devoted wife"-smile out of her face after she'd wore it for endless hours during Albus' speeches in front of the magic population of Edinburgh and the official dinner afterwards. It had been the fourth one this week though it had been only Wednesday. But thanks to Isadora Crackebell's talent for organization - Merlin damn her for it - Hermione and Albus had managed to attend to two dinners the evening before - the first and early one with the muggle prime minister, the second and later one at home with 10 important witches and wizards as their guests. So after coming back from Edinburgh Hermione had fallen in bed like a stone, asleep the moment her head had hit the pillow.

Probably it was for the first time in a fortnight now, that Hermione sat on the terrace with a book. But although she'd longed for a little reading - she felt already as if her brain would rot away because she only thought of robes, dinners and silly people to convince about voting for Albus - she didn't look at the book. Instead she had a little conversation with baby. She - Hermione always thought of her belly's little inhabitant as a 'her' - had been in great form, moving and turning and kicking her mother's stomach or bladder. Hermione wasn't sure what this meant. She'd seen Poppy Pomfrey a few days before and the mediwitch had been quite satisfied with the baby's development, but Hermione felt as if her child would want to show her that it didn't like her mother running around all day.

"And probably," Hermione whispered, stroking her belly, "you miss your daddy too, little one. But you must know that he doesn't neglect us because he wants to. I'm sure: If the both of us had found a better time to appear in his life, he'd have become the most devoted father you could wish for. He loves us, you know - and even if he isn't with us as much as we'd like, he certainly thinks of you and me ..."

"He does." A long, tender hand stroked over Hermione's belly.

Feeling the soft whiskers of Albus' beard on her neck, she stretched her free hand and laid it on his arm. "Albus - aren't you a bit late already?" She turned and looked around, expecting to see Isadora with her clipboard. "I'm afraid I lost a bit track of your schedule, but wasn't it tea with the Academic Witches Club today? And later an order meeting?" She suppressed a sigh by asking - order's meeting always meant he wouldn't come home before midnight.

He sat down on the chair next to her. "Actually it was, but I've asked Severus to deputize at the order's meeting. He needs to see something else than the lab now and then and he can give the information to me in the morning." Hermione was for a moment a bit sceptical. The last weeks had taught her to keep her expectations rather low. But Albus, seeing the doubt in her eyes, smiled at her. "One could think you wouldn't want me at home for a quiet evening."

"Nonsense!" Hermione said. "You know I do. And the prospect will even make my afternoon. I even won't become jealous about the Academic Witches flirting with you."

"Oh, but they had their flirt with me already." Albus took her hand and pulled it to his lips. Nibbling on her thumb as he often did, he said: "You're really a bit out of my schedule. The tea was for three o'clock and now it's four ..."

"I thought you were to hold a speech and to answer questions?" Hermione asked amazed.

"I made a rather short speech." Albus laid her palm against his cheek now. "I told the ladies that I think women deserve more respect than they get in our community in the moment, but that one could easily and truthfully name me a 'hypocrite' by talking about it because in the last days I didn't show my own wife the respect she deserves. I said that I'd hate to see you as a kind of 'decorative element' in my life - though I would never deny that you're very nice to look at. So I asked the ladies if they would allow me to have a talk with my wife while a member of their club - who was for forty years the person who worked closest with me - would answer all their questions about me and my political ideas. They agreed and so Minerva is having tea now while I'm at least for the rest of the day all yours."

"Albus ..." Hermione almost cried. She'd rather swallowed her tongue than complained to him about feeling neglected, but she'd missed him dreadfully. Yet by her climbing in his lap she looked around nervously. "What have you done with Isadora and her clipboard?" she asked. "You know, kissing you is a bit irritating when one has to fear she'd step in every moment ..."

"She won't." Albus pulled Hermione a bit closer. "I've ordered her to stay with Minerva. And Minerva, good girl as she is, will take Isadora with her to the order's meeting where she can pester Severus about having the protocol neatly done."

"Poor Severus!" Hermione said, snuggling happily closer to her husband.

"For the moment it's better him than me suffering with her." Albus laughed. "I'm to enjoy my day off with you." His hand wandered over her belly to her side and up to her breast, stroking it lightly. "Pregnancy becomes you, Hermione," he whispered and bent down to kiss her.

Hermione had closed her eyes, answering to his sweet kiss eagerly. To feel him so close again made her body hum with desire and his hand on her breast added to the arousal she was feeling. Breaking the kiss she whispered: "What do you think about a nap, Albus?"

"A nap sounds like a wonderful idea ..." He nibbled on her ear again. "But I wouldn't like staying indoors at such a glorious, warm day. So what do you think about running down to the kitchen to get us a little something while I go up and change in something less formal and hot?"

Hermione caught his marauding hand on her breast and kissed it. Thinking of the long, white shirt with tiny buttons from the collar down over the entire length he liked to wear in private, Hermione said: "I hope less formal doesn't mean a hundred buttons and so much fabric one easily could get lost in it ..."

"Hmm ..." Albus made, his eyes twinkling. "One could think you don't like wizard's fashion."

"For being honest: I really don't do," Hermione said. "I mean your robes are nice to look at, but unwrapping you is always a bit complicated." She rose up and kissed the tip of his nose. "Although I have to add, it's always worth it. But I'm going in the kitchen now."

"And I'll see to get myself dressed in something you like," Albus promised and followed her into the house, stroking her backside by it.

Five minutes later Hermione stood on the terrace again, a cradle with fruits, a few sandwiches - Woopy and Larry had been delighted to serve her with - a cake and a bottle of pumpkin juice in her arm. She felt like singing in joy - and wasn't it a day made for singing? The sky was blue and clear as Albus' eyes and the sun felt as if she'd tickle Hermione's skin with thousand of tiny hands and Albus was there and she would have not only the afternoon, but an entire evening and a night with him and no Isadora would keep her away from snogging him! And here he was and Hermione found that he looked very appetizing and - even better - accessible in a blue muggle polo shirt and a wide, cream short, his naked feet in sandals and his mane bound back in a pony tail. She couldn't resist teasing him in tugging lightly at his shorts: "Huuh - aren't you afraid Percival feels restricted?"

Albus waved his finger and made the picnic cradle hover with it. Laying his arm around Hermione's middle, he walked her through the garden to the gate which lead in the meadow, saying: "I promised him you'd set him free soon enough."

"Oh?" Hermione let her hand wander down on his bottom. It was always nice to fondle it a bit, not only because Albus seemed to like it, but because his backside was still firm and well-muscled. "I've never thought of you being one for outdoor activities," she said.

"That comes from marrying me in winter, Darling," he gave back. "Even with warming charms I never liked outdoor shagging in winter much. Probably I should have worked on my charms, but they always had a tendency to wear off just at the wrong moment."

Hermione laughed out loud. "And your passion wasn't enough to keep you warm? Albus, I'm disappointed. I've always thought you were a hot lover."

"Yes, I tried - but it's really distracting when you get snow on your butt by making love," he explained and then chuckled. "It's probably one of the reasons why I knew Hogwarts very well as I came as a teacher. During my last two years as a student I was always on the search for deserted corners. I became so good in finding them; I even could provide my house mates with tips too ..."

"And later, as teacher, you used your knowledge for catching poor students?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Albus, how unfair!"

"I didn't!" he protested. "I was the one who was always whistling during my night patrols and as long as the students weren't exceptionally thick, they could be sure I wouldn't catch them. I had - as my headmaster Armando Dippet sometimes stated - too much of a love life myself for wanting to spend my evenings with supervising detentions."

"Was Headmaster Dippet right?" Hermione asked.

"No, actually he over exaggerated," Albus said. "I was 62 years old when I came back to Hogwarts and though this isn't much for a wizard, it was enough to have me a bit more settled than in younger years. Besides I was in a long term relationship at this time ..."

"You were?" Hermione became very curious. "Who was she?"

"A very strong, beautiful and independent woman - the cousin of Augustus McGonagall, Kassopeia." Albus smiled in remembering. "You would have liked her, Hermione. She was charm professor at Oxford - the first woman in that job and one of the founders of the Academic Witches Club. And she was the only woman I ever wanted to marry - I mean after the rather idiotic engagement to that girl in Rome. With Kassopeia I really meant it ..."

"And why didn't you marry her?" Hermione wanted to know.

Albus sighed. "Because she didn't want me. She said I'd make a nice lover, but probably a lousy husband. Today I think she was right. I really expected her to give up her career for living with me at Hogwarts."

"Buh ..." made Hermione. "I think I wouldn't have liked that either. I mean, she'd probably worked hard to become a professor - so why should she have given that up?"  
"Today I know it was wrong to demand it. But 100 years ago I was an idiot who wanted his wife all to himself. Probably I was even a bit jealous of her career - she was very well renowned in her work while I wasn't entirely sure if my decision for coming back to Hogwarts was really a good move. I never was good in taking orders and even with Armando being more a friend than a superior - there were a lot of things I'd have wanted to change or to do in another way than he did."

They reached the river now. Strolling along, Hermione came back to her almost-predecessor. "What became of your relationship after your proposal was refused?"

Albus sighed again. "As I said: I was an idiot. My pride was so hurt I thought I would have to show Kassopeia that I wouldn't need her. I started an affair with a pretty silly younger witch and Kassopeia - who had quite a temper - sent me a howler."

"Uh!" made Hermione, remembering the screaming, snapping letter Ron had once got from his mother. "I hope you didn't get it in the great hall during a meal."

"It came just there," Albus said. "And it was so quick I didn't stand a chance to run away with it. So the entire school heard how I was advised to learn about thinking with my brain instead of my cock and that - I quote - 'always following the direction in which my various erections were pointing' would get me nowhere in the end. Besides Kassopeia told me I shouldn't show myself in Oxford for the next 50 years because she couldn't give any guarantee she would resist the urge to have my balls for breakfast - boiled, of course."

Hermione laughed. "Sorry," she said, "but I think you deserved it. Though ..." she stopped and laid her arm around his middle, "... I must admit I like your balls where they are ..." For proving it she stretched on her tiptoes, kissed him and stroke over his shorts.

Albus kissed back, laying both his hands on her backside. "You like them even wrapped?" he asked her then. "You know, they like it better if you touch them without so much fabric over them ..."

"I like touching them better when they aren't covered," Hermione smiled. "I only doubt that's the ideal place for undressing you. I'm afraid Isadora and Severus would have the jitters if a picture of us, playing Pan and the nymph, would appear in the newspapers. And even with Skeeter as your pet bug - the 'Daily Prophet' would probably like such a photograph."

"You're right. Therefore I'd rather do Leda and the swan - with me as Leda, of course." He grinned and pointed with his chin to the little island on the middle of the river. "As a boy I often swam over there. It's a nice place with a soft sand beach. And ..." he once again stroked her butt, "... it's easy to ward. Actually it still should have a few wards."

Hermione raised her eyebrow. "Does this mean this island was the place you came with your female friends to?"

"No, my lady, it doesn't." Albus pulled his wand which he had hidden at the side of his shorts, out. "I never was there with a woman. It was my hiding place and I didn't want to share it." He directed the wand at the island and murmured an incantation. "Don't ever say I couldn't do good wards. They're still there - but open now. So if you would get your sweet butt over there?"

Hermione giggled. "Rump, Albus - I'm going to get my rump there." She was pretty proud for being now a perfect animagnus though she still needed a bit more concentration and time than Albus to change her form. So she closed her eyes and thought of becoming a swan, feeling the now only soft prickle of growing feathers and changing. Opening her eyes again she heard water splatter and saw Albus - still in his human form - just jumping in the river. She followed him there and if she could in her bird form, she'd laughed because he obviously had to struggle against the current. For her it was easy to glide over it with grace. Only waddling on land she didn't like much, so she immediately changed back to her human form as she arrived on the island.

It was really a beautiful place with soft, white sand and a few old trees, spending not only shadow, but with their roots, paled and smoothened by standing in the water during high floats, offering places to seat on comfortably. Hermione sank down on one of them, pulled her wand out and made with an "accio cradle" the picnic fly over the river. Then she looked at Albus who just came out of the water, hair and beard dripping. He slipped out of his shirt, laid it on the soft sand and changed it to a blanket, and then he opened his shorts, let them drop down and smiled at Hermione. "I promised: No buttons ..."

Hermione liked looking at him. Despite his age, she found him still handsome and - what was even more - she loved him. To her he was the most beautiful man and even in comparing him to his younger self - no, she didn't want him more slender or more muscled or more tanned or something else. He was the man she'd fallen in love with, he was the man she desired and it touched her every time to see that now he obviously was entirely at ease with being naked around her. Sometimes it even amused her because he obviously was more comfortable with her than she herself was with him. The thought made her giggle and open her shirt.

"What amuses you?" Albus had lay down on the blanket and looked now at her.

Hermione slipped out of her shirt, hung it over a branch, and opened her bra - Albus had been right: The pregnancy became her, her breasts had grown and she found herself looking rather sexy with the bigger boobs - and smiled back. "You know, I just thought it's actually quite funny. You're the Victorian - and I'm the prude."

"No, I don't think so." He watched how she now hung her jeans over the branch too. "A prude wouldn't undress so gracefully ..."

Hermione, now only wearing her white undies, looked a bit sceptically to her image, mirrored in the water. "Hmm," she made and stroke over her belly. "I'm already becoming pretty fat."

"Women!" Albus turned his eyes. "Come here!" he demanded, stretching his arm. "I'll show you how I see you ..."

Hermione first climbed out of her undies, and then she lay down next to him. "In a few weeks I'll really be fat!" she complained.

"I'm looking forward to it." Albus bent over her, stroking her belly. "I like very much what a baby does to your body," he said, his hand now on its way to her full breasts. "You're becoming more womanly and more enchanting every day. Yesterday during my silly speech I once almost lost track because I looked at you - and suddenly the only thing I could think of was pulling you into the next dark corner and ..." he stopped talking and kissed her, his tongue demanding entrance to her mouth, his hand cupping her breast.

Hermione let herself fall in this kiss and the pleasure his stroking worked on her. It had been too long since they've last slept together - once again almost three weeks. But now his mouth glided down over her chin and neck and she arched her back presenting her erect nipples to him and it was bliss and pain in one, as his tongue started to tease it. "Albus ..." she whispered, massaging his scalp by it, "I missed you."

He laid on his side, half over her and so Hermione had only access to his back, but she felt on her tight his already heavy, half-erect member and as always the proof of his arousal sent shivers down her spine. Now his lips blew kisses on her belly and down to her mound and she found herself whispering: "Oh yes, Albus - that's how I dreamed off you in the lonely nights in Beauxbaton. I missed you so much it almost hurt and I ... I touched myself when it was too bad. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it were your mouth and your hands. I imagined you filling me, your weight on my body, your cock moving in me and the thoughts made me come ..."She hadn't intended to tell him, but now it suddenly seemed right to share this moments with him.

He obviously liked it. His eyes were dark as he looked down on her and his voice even huskier than she was use to: "Show me, love ..."

Hermione swallowed. This she hadn't expected and she wasn't sure if she really would like to expose herself so much to him.

He seemed to understand her hesitating. Taking her in his arms again, he pressed her to his long body and, still holding her close, he said quietly: "You remember the letter you wrote me from Beauxbaton in your second week? It reached me here on the island - and it made me feel very young. I read that you miss me - especially in the nights. My voice, my hands, to laugh and to talk with me, to touch me, to be touched ..." He cleared his throat. "I wondered how far this missing would go. I wondered if you would touch yourself - and the very idea of it aroused me very much ..."

Hermione swallowed again. "I touched myself in Beauxbaton. I just did after writing that letter to you ..." she whispered in his ear.

"I would have loved to watch you ..." he gave back, no louder than her.

"I would have loved to see you as you got the letter. I wondered if it would ..." She hesitated. "I mean - you said ... you said, it aroused you ... and ... Albus?" She blushed deeply.

"I did," he answered the question she hadn't dared to ask. "I closed my eyes, laid back and thought of you and your hands and your mouth and your scent and your body against mine. Getting an erection then I had no choice: Satisfying myself or jumping in the cold water. Cold water makes my rheumatics worse, so I decided for the other way to get rid off."

Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed a third time. Curling a strand of his hair around her hand, she gave herself a push and said: "If I would touch myself in front of you ... would you ...?"

"Hmm!" He purred, obviously liking the idea. "Sounds like a deal - I've only one condition: I want to watch your climax, but for myself - I'd rather like to come later, inside you ..."

Hermione smiled happily. Once again he seemed to have read her mind - or was it simply that their ideas about sex were so alike? She'd come to like the variety and his experience in making love very much. She loved how quick and easy he could make her come with his talented fingers, she loved to touch and to play with him, she loved when he performed oral sex on her - and heavens, he was good at it! And she liked to suck him until he was as hard as a rock and panting. She'd even learned that she could make him scream by using a finger to stimulate his prostate, but he'd never allowed her to make him come in her mouth. He always stopped her just a moment before and always for the same reason: "I want to come inside you."

This was just as she wanted it. She was sure, she wouldn't mind tasting him - actually she even felt a bit curious about. With young Albus she would have at least tried once. But with Albus as he was it was another matter. She knew by now that his old body needed always a day or two to recover from a climax. Yet with knowing his body's reaction so well as he did, this certainly didn't mean he'd have a problem with pleasing his young wife. In the contrast to most young men Albus was able to control himself almost perfect. He could avoid reag thg the point of no return almost perfectly and this meant that he never came before Hermione was entirely and thoroughly satisfied. He got his greatest pleasure from playing her virtuously and making her climaxing as often and as hard as possible. After the fourth or fifth time she mostly was exhausted and then she asked him to come - and it wasn't only her sense of fairness, but that she loved to watch him then. The prolonging of his arousal obviously made for very intense orgasms which had him panting and moaning and sweating and sometimes almost passing out. And sometimes it even looked as if he was in pain, but he'd assured her of this not being the case. Yet even more than watching him during his climax, Hermione loved the precious moments just afterwards when he was still in her, but laying motionless in her arms, limb, his body glimmering with sweat, his eyes closed, struggling for breath.

She was always aware with whom she was sleeping. Knowing him so intimidate as she did now hadn't reduced her respect for him, just on the contrary. Part of his sex appeal for her was the fact that he radiated power, that she felt his strength in every movement, in every whispered word, in every touch. But part of it was also the vulnerability he showed to her in these sweet moments after his climax when he let her keep and hold him. It made her feel strong and womanly and very close to him. And she knew without him ever saying a word about it, that he ht alt allowed himself this time of absolute rest and abandon with other women. This knowledge gave her a feeling of exclusivity she dwelled on when without him. She wasn't bothered by jealousy when hearing about his past or seeing him flirt with a woman – and he still liked to do so very much. Hermione could smile about it. She was absolutely sure of him.

And there was something else: She simply knew – once again without ever asking him about – that this certain Slytherin's "subtlety" in matters of sex didn't mean only finesse in technique, but subtlety in matters of intimacy too. Hermione was sure he'd never shared so much of it with one of the other women in his life. As much beds he'd come through, as much as he'd liked and perhaps even loved and respected the women he'd slept with – to him it obviously made a difference that Hermione was his lawfully wedded wife and soon the mother of his child. This meant an openness he'd probably never showed before and it meant now, that Hermione wanted to give back what she received from him. So she turned on her back and laid her hands on her breasts, looking up to him.

Albus immediately knew what Hermione was starting. Moving down on the blanket, he sat on his knees between her spread legs and – true to this promise – his hands went down to his private parts.

Hermione looked at him – and felt as if even an entire herd of wild photographing Creevey trampling over the place wouldn't get her to look away from what she thought the most erotic sign she'd ever seen. She had always loved Albus' hands. She remembered that his long, tender hands with the sensitive fingers had been the first feature on him she'd noticed – even before his famous blue eyes and the hair. And for all the years in Hogwarts watching Albus' hands had been a secret pleasure for her, especially after she'd learned that his face always showed only what he wanted to display. It looked even in crisis calm, but by watching his hands Hermione had sometimes got a look behind his disciplined mask. She remembered his hands as once, in her fifth year, Dolores Umbridge from the ministry had tried to overpower him, announcing her plan in a speech. Albus had managed a friendly smile, but she'd seen the firm grip around his goblet – so firm the knuckles on his hands had shone white. And as he'd asked Severus to go back to Voldemort, his left hand had been a tight fist whiles the right hand, open and hanging down at his side, had trembled.

But mostly his hands meant magic to her. He could do more with crooking one finger as most wizards managed with swinging their wands and she had always been fascinated by it. And now he used his fingers for touching himself. His left hand was closed around his shaft – much more firmly than Hermione had ever gripped him – stroking up and down while his right played with his testicles, rolling and massaging them. Yet his eyes were on Hermione who now had her right hand between her legs and rubbed her clitoris with her thumb while her middle and index finger filled her hot channel. Normally, when doing so, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine it would be his cock moving in her, but now she looked at him and this made the act better than it had ever felt when she was alone. She found herself coming to the brink of climax only after two or three minutes. Her clitoris became as always almost too sensitive to touch, so she refrained from stroking the part over it and her body buckled and arched on his own accord and she heard herself moan: "Albus – I'm so close …"

"Yes, my Darling – come for me!" he answered and it was as if she'd just waited for him to order her. Now pushing three fingers inside the tight heat she felt the red wave taking her and pleasure exploded in her body. And then, as she still struggled for breath, shaken by the aftermaths of her orgasm, he was over her like a predator over his prey and with one forceful stroke his rock hard shaft filled her and she heard herself scream and wrapped her legs around him, clinging to his back with her hands, pressing to him as tight as she could. It was as if they become one flesh and one body and one mind and they moved together in a perfect rhythm and he hit once and once again that special spot inside her and she forgot time and space and everything and only felt his skin under her lips and the bliss of being connected to him and the roaring of her blood as she once again came and fell and flight in the same moment.

She meant she'd needed an endless time to come back to coherent thinking, but his kisses on her forehead and the stroking of her sides brought her back to reality and she smiled at him. He was still inside her and, as he proved with a little movement of his hips, still hard. And only this little push made her shudder again and she laid her hands on his bottom, keeping him in place. "One day you'll kill me, you insatiable Slytherin!" she said.

His smile became a smug grin. "Don't say you're already done, Darling." He moved his hip once again to tease her. "I just feel up for …"

"No, Albus Dumbledore!" Hermione laughed. "You promised me picnic and I'm starving now."

"Well, well," he sighed and turned at his side. "If my passion for you isn't enough to satisfy all your needs …" He rose up to his knees and began to rummage in the picnic cradle.

Hermione purred and went on her knees too. Leaning against his back, she kissed his shoulder and shoved her hand in his lap. Gripping his erection firmly, she whispered: "I didn't say I'm done entirely. I only need a break and something to eat. You know, you're rather exhausting."

"That sounds better." He presented her an apple and a peach he'd taken out of the cradle. "Fruits?"

Hermione took the apple and bite in it. Chewing she laid back and said: "I could come in use with picnics."

"Me too." Albus turned to her, the peach in his hand. "I only don't know what I find more appetizing: The peach or you. But …," grinning he bite into the fruit, parted it, took the stone out and looked then on the two parts and back on Hermione, "I think I can have both." He put the peach's half's on her breast so that they cupped her nipples. "Hmm – peach served on Hermione – that looks very delicious."

Hermione laughed. "Did your mother never tell you, you shouldn't play with your food?"

"My mother always said, the eyes need feasts too," Albus answered and bent down to lick the peach juice from her breast. "Hmm …" he made again, looking up. "Actually I like peaches with clothed cream …"

"But you don't have cream here." Hermione laughed. She loved his playful moods and – the cool fruit on her skin felt arousing.

"I'm a wizard, sweet wife!" Albus took his wand from his shorts and raised it. "Accio cream!" he commanded.

Hermione – though she tried to lay still for not losing the peaches – had to hold her belly in laughing. She just imagined a harmless muggle wanderer coming along the river. From Dumbledore Hall he wouldn't see more than a few old, withered stones and sign "Entrance forbidden – danger of collapse." But a bowl with cream flying through the meadow and over the river he would see – and probably think he'd spent too much time in the sun.

Now the bowl was there – Albus had caught it with one hand and immediately started to spread the cream on Hermione. He covered her breasts with it and licking his fingers he said: "That's really the nicest way I ever saw peaches and cream served."

"Only I've never thought I was to become your plate." Hermione teased him. "What do you think, the Academic Witches would say to that?"

"I don't think you'd like that." Albus licked over her skin. "They'd probably kill to become my dish …"

"Oh heavens!" Hermione turned her eyes. "You know, your modesty overwhelms me. It's so good you're neither smug nor arrogant. I really couldn't stand that."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 20: The Taming of the Shrew

Even in Artus Dumbledore's days - and it was said that Albus' father had been a very hospitable man - breakfast in Dumbledore Hall had rarely been such a public affair as on May 15, 2006 after the "Daily Prophet" had published the article about Hermione.

It had been a piece almost as long as the last about Albus' youth sins and it was decorated with even more pictures: Hermione, standing behind Harry, her hand on his shoulder; Hermione, dancing with Severus at the Yule Ball; Hermione, walking through Diagon Alley, holding hands with Victor Krum; Hermione at Hogwarts on the quidditch pitch, whispering something in Ron Weasley's ear and Hermione, just turning away with a rather grim look from her husband who wrinkled his forehead and looked severe (the picture had been taken by Severfakefake fun jus just after Fudge's speech. Hermione had fumed so much that Albus had ordered her via legilimens not to hex the minister).

The text had been even worse: Rita Skeeter had started with reminding her readers of Hermione being muggle-born and the daughter of a "working woman", therefore probably a very "emancipated young lady" who'd always shown that she liked to live her life in "her own, advanced ways". Even in "very young years" she'd proven herself a "feminist" in her dealing with boys - so Skeeter had written. A list with Hermione's "love affairs" to prove it was next. Following it, Hermione had first "broken Harry Potter's heart", and then she'd dated Ron Weasley before she'd left "the poor boy for the famous and wealthy quidditch champion Victor Krum". But, so Skeeter told her readers, the "handsome Bulgarian wizard's devotion" hadn't been enough for Hermione. She'd left him for a "secret relationship"with D Mal Malfoy, "heir of one of the most rich and famous British wizard family's" and done the seducing of the "Britain's most demanded bachelor" so well, that he'd proposed to her "on his knee". His father was quoted: "I wasn't too happy about Draco's choice - not because the girl's muggle born, but because I never believed in her ability to make my son a happy man. Yet he was so much in love, so I agreed and was willing to take up the girl with open arms." Only Hermione hadn't fielded to her enchanted admirer, but married Albus Dumbledore, "the famous, very rich and 163 year old headmaster of her school, known for being eccentric" - so eccentric he hadn't demanded the "usual" fidelity charm at the binding.

Reading this piece Hermione had needed an explanation from Severus because she'd never heard about a fidelity charm. Severus of course knew about it - he'd once seen his father casting this charm over his second wife, making sure with it, that she could never touch another man than him intimately without her marriage ring - a ring she of course couldn't take off - burning a wound on her finger. Hermione had found this charm "ghastly" - like marking stock! And she couldn't believe it was "usual". Severus had to tell her, that a lot of wizards used it - and they would believe that Albus not casting it meant that he didn't expect his young wife being faithful to him, but was willing to accept her having lovers.

And one of them - so the article - probably had been Severus Snape, who's death had been so "mysterious". Skeeter wrote: "Shortly before Severus Snape died, Hermione Granger-Dumbledore was seen flirting with her husband's cousin, German potion master Johannes Praetorius. Rumours in Hogwarts tell about a scene between the two men - a jealous tragedy? A friend of Sus Sus Snape who wants to remain anonym says: "He was very depressed in his last days. I wouldn't wonder if he committed suicide."

Skeeter wasn't done with that. Her article went on: "Under these circumstances the question arises: Who's the father of the child Albus Dumbledore obviously wants to present as his heir? Is it really the 163 year old wizard who never sired a child in his life? Or was it Hogwarts' late Potion Master Severus Snape, who taught young Hermione Dumbledore extra lessons in the weeks before his demise? Or is it even German Potion Master Johannes Praetorius who lives with Hogwarts former headmaster and his attractive wife at Dumbledore Hall? Albus Dumbledore, who wants to become the next minister of magic, will have to answer these questions. Until he does so, his moral standards will have to be doubted and with them his suitability for an office as honourable as the ministers."

At least: No one could doubt the article mad deep impression. Hermione had just left Severus for going down at the breakfast table again, as a rather flustered Woopy appeared and announced that Mistress and Mister Weasley had apparated at the gates and were just walking up to the hall and if Woopy should wake the master? Hermione actually wanted very much to talk with Albus, but he'd been up all night, planning his campaign with Severus and her. So she answered with a sigh: "Let him sleep, Woopy. He'll learn soon enough." And rising she marched to the French window. "I'm going to welcome the Weasleys."

Walking in the garden, Hermione was almost overrun by a furious Molly Weasley who pulled her in a tight embrace, crying and ranting at once: "Poor Darling" You must feel dreadful! As I saw this terrible article, I said at once to Arthur, that we had to see you - you can't be alone now."

Her float of words became interrupted by Woopy who appeared with a "plop", her ears flapping: "Headmistress Minerva and Mister Augustus McGonagall just have arrived at the gates."

And then Minerva stormed already through the garden, her green robe billowing as Severus' in his best days, screaming: "It's an outrage! What does this woman think?"

Her husband was a bit calmer, but sounded very determined as he said: "You'll sue the Prophet of course. We'll make them pay for that and I'm to make sure this Skeeter person won't write another article again in her life time!"

Hermione didn't get a chance to answer because five owls just came in low-attitude fly through the garden. Four of them approached the house, but one - Harry's beautiful snow white Hedwig - landed on Hermione's arm. As Hermione just had untied the letter on Hedwig's leg, Woopy demanded her attention again: "Miss Nymphadora Tonks and Mister Kingsley Shacklebolt just arri ..." stopping in mid word, she let again flap her ears: "Mister Alastor Moody and Mistress Augusta Shacklebolt are the ..." For a second time the elf didn't manage to finish, but had to say rather weary: "Mister Honorius Cracklebell and Mistress Lucasta Cracke ... and Mister Remus Lupin ..."

Five Minutes later Hermione shepherded a crowd of no less then 22 excitingly talking and ranting witches and wizards into the hall, hoping fiercely that a) the four house elves down in the kitchen would manage to serve tea and at least a little breakfast for all, that b) Severus had noticed the house was full of people and would therefore appear as Johannes, that c) Albus would be down soon and that d) Baby would stop proving itself as a true Dumbledore so much. It obviously loved the excitement and therefore rummaged in Hermione's womb as a quidditch champion by hunting the snitch. Hermione felt already dizzy from being talked to from all sides and she was actually glad that Molly finally noticed how pale she was and jumped on her like a lioness protecting her cub. Molly wanted to lead Hermione to a sofa on . Yet she wasn't the only Gryffindor lioness in the crowd - Augusta Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall had a go at Hermione too. Unfortunately the two of them had never got along very well, so Hermione found herself suddenly not on the sofa but in the middle of a furious row between three ladies. And while Molly, Minerva and Augusta discussed their competence in dealing with pregnant Hermione, Hermione finally fainted and became rescued by no other than Alastor Moody, who caught her, carried her out of the room to the stairs and dropped her rather unceremoniously in the arms of Severus-Johannes with roaring: "Get the chick in bed before she vomits all over the idiots down there!"

Severus hadn't been keen to show himself in the hall. So he bowed slightly, grinned, cradled Hermione closer and walked up the stairs. Hermione felt more then a little embarrassed by her weakness. She started crying and cursing the "damn hormones" until they reached the master bedroom where Albus just finished his dressing with putting up his spectacles. Seeing a crying Hermione in Severus' arms, he almost choked.

"Albus don't worry. I'm fine," Hermione said as Severus let her down on the bed, but couldn't let go his arm because the world around her was spinning - and so did Albus worried face which was bent over her.

"What happened?" Albus demanded to know.

"Hermione fainted - what's no wonder because your hall is filled with a crowd of madmen," Severus answered.

"The Daily Prophet ..." started Hermione.

Severus interrupted her. "Lay back and be quiet! You'll only make yourself more miserable."

"What's in the 'Prophet'?" Albus asked, sounding angry.

Severus, now sitting on the bedside because Hermione still had his sleeve in her grip, looked up to him. "Skeeter doubts you're the father of Hermione's baby. She suggests it's me ..."

"Which you?" Albus asked curtly.

"Both of me." Severus turned his eyes. "First Severus, then Johannes - she seems to think one potion master isn't enough for making a baby." Losing at last Hermione's hand and laying it on her belly, he said: "Perhaps you should go down for calming down the crowd, Albus - if you're able to, which I doubt. I'll look after Hermione."

Albus seemed to hesitate, looking at Hermione. She produced a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Albus."

"You are sorry? For what?" He shook his head.

"For being so weak and for the bloody picture!" Hermione cried.

Albus bent down again. Stroking her cheek he said: "You're not weak and I don't think you have a reason to be sorry. But I should rather go down ..."

"Yes, please." Hermione closed her eyes because the room spinned again. 

As Hermione waked up - the second time this morning - the sun was high on the sky, throwing bright light in the bedroom. Hermione twinkled - she'd really slept deep. The two weeks in Beauxbaton had cost her a lot of strength, not only because the exams, but more because she missed Albus and her friends there and because d fod found time to think there over the last half year in her life and about her future. She was to be a mother - and although she never doubted that she'd made the right decision with becoming pregnant, she still couldn't imagine how it would feel to be a single mother. Of course - she'd live in the Hall, she'd have every help money could buy, so it wouldn't become too big a problem to handle university and the baby. But how would she handle to live without Albus? She loved him and in the two weeks in Beauxbaton she'd already missed him dreadfully. How could she bear to know that she would never see him again, that she would never fall asleep in his arms, that she would never kiss him again, never sleep with him again? And how would she explain to her child once that it would never know its father?

It was hard to live with such thoughts and it was even harder to live with them without burdening Albus with it. He needed all his strength for what he had to do and she wouldn't make it more difficult for him. Besides: She needed the little bit of normality they'd saved through all the excitement and trouble. The little time she had left with him she didn't want to spend in tears, but in laughter and love. She'd have time to mourn later. And then she'd need all cheerful, good memories for telling her child what a man its father had been.

Yet there was a comfort - it sat just now in the high backed chair in the nice window, reading a book and was back in its form of a dark-haired, tall wizard with black eyes. Only that he didn't wear black anymore, but a rather nice mixture from muggle and wizard: Dark blue robe over jeans and light blue shirt. Hermione liked this although she knew that Severus wasn't too happy about it. He'd rather wore his usual black, but even in the Hall he wanted to be prepared for changing into the Johannes disguise at every moment.

Hermione wondered sometimes about her own reaction to Severus. As she'd first meet Johannes Praetorius she spontaneously thought: "Wow - Severus could do worse than in getting this man's appearance ..." And in the same time she'd felt a bit odd because the German wizard, though blond, reminded her very much of young Albus. He was as tall and well-proportioned as Albus, he had deep blue eyes, a long face and an energetic chin too, but his nose was smaller and so he was ever prettier than Albus had been. Hermione had immediately understood that a lot of witches were very interested in Johannes Praetorius who wasn't only handsome, but intelligent and charming too. And she was sure: If the readers of "Witch Weekly" would have to choice between Severus Snapd Jod Johannes Praetorius as the more attractive male, Severus wouldn't stand a chance. Yet one voice he would get: Hermione's. The more often she got to compare the two men, the more she liked Severus. During her time in Hogwarts she'd never noticed, but now she even liked to watch his long, slender hands with the nimble, sensitive fingers. And she liked his fine, black hair. Now, as he didn't stand all day over boiling cauldrons anymore, it wasn't greasy at all, but in the sun shimmering like a raven's wing. And the eyes - this groundless, black poles! Had she found them cold once? Unreadable? Today she saw amusement - and he was often amused! - And warmth and tenderness and his small smile and anger and wonderment and sorrow in them. Sometimes one gaze of them made her smile, sometimes she became sad because she saw the pain and bitterness he'd bared through the most part of his life.

Now he'd seen that she was awakening and laid the book aside, raising. In Hogwarts Hermione had never given much attention to his body and his movement - and even if she'd have watched, she wouldn't have seen much with him always wearing his robe and the frock coat. But now she noticed that he moved with an almost feline grace and though he'd gained a bit weight - Hermione had never liked bony men.

"Hermione?" He stood now next to her, looking down at her with a tiny smile. "Do you feel better?"

Hermione stretched. "Yes," she said. "I feel much better." She listened for a moment - the house was entirely quiet again. "Are we alone? "She asked.

Severus leaned at the mantle piece. Although he was now at ease with Hermione, he'd never have seat down at her bedside if not forced to. "Albus has fed and watered the mob, and then he kicked them out. Now Augustus and he are going to see the editor of the 'Quibbler'."

Hermione grinned. She remembered how she'd once managed to get an interview with Harry in this magazine. She'd always thought the wizard world would need a second newspaper and with it a second opinion. "Let me guess: They're going to get the 'Quibbler' to our side?"

deeddeed." Severus shoved a strand of his black hair out of his face. "Albus will feed the magazine with a few esivesive stories. Besides he is trying to get Skeeter for the Quibbler ..."

"Skeeter?" Hermione sat upright. "After this article?"

"I wouldn't want to be in her shoes when Albus gets her in his fingers," Severus said, sounding satisfied by the thought. "He really wasn't amused about her article - and you know: Meeting a cross Albus isn't what one could call 'pleasant'. I'm sure Miss Skeeter thinks new about her writing afterwards ..."

Hermione chewed on her under lip. "Severus," she said then hesitantly, "do you think he's angry with ..?" She fell silent.

Severus shook his head slowly. "No, he isn't angry with the two of us. Before he went he came up looking after you. He only worries about you. Besides he knows as well as I do that Skeeter would have tried to get at you in every case. She wouldn't have needed this photograph."

"But I've provided her with ammunition!" Hermione complained.

"Hermione," Severus sighed, "if you'd have spend all your life in a nunnery without ever seeing a man, Skeeter would have written that you're a lesbian. She wants to ruin Albus' reputation."

"But why?" Hermione rummaged in her hair. "You know, that's what I really don't understand. Does she really believe that Fudge is tter min minister than Albus?"

Severus sneered. "Sometimes you're naive, Hermione. Skeeter is a Slytherin and not one of the thick sorts. She certainly doesn't believe in Fudge being any good as minister. But he's useful to her. She can manipulate him as she never could manipulate Albus. She probably knows every skeleton in Fudge's closet with its given name, so he must cooperate and provide her with information."

"My, my - what a world we live in," Hermione sighed.

"Now you're sounding like Minerva." Severus became a bit sharper. "You don't believe the muggle world is better?"

"No, of course not." Hermione climbed out of the bed. "If I would have believed so, I would have gone months before," she reminded Severus. Plaiting her hair back, she smiled a bit weakly at him. "Would you mind going downstairs with me? I'm starving and you know, I don't like eating alone."

"I haven't had much breakfast either. So I need a bit too ..." Severus answered and followed her up the stairs.

Woopy had been delighted to serve a second breakfast and had suggested their lay the table on the terrace. She'd just appeared with fresh tea there as Hermione heard a rustle of a robe and quick steps in the garden. Albus was back and Hermione jumped immediately to her feet and ran down to him.

She had expected that he would still look angry or exhausted, but his smile was warm and his eyes rather cheerful as he opened his arms for her. "You're up and feeling better?" he asked.

Hugging him, she gave back: "Much better - and you? How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Albus said, kissing the tip of her nose. "Only I was thinking all the way back if I could send Johannes ..." when in the open air he always avoided to talk about Severus, "... and you to another shopping tour this afternoon." He laid his arm around her shoulder and led her to the terrace where Severus had already ordered a third set of china.

"Actually I don't think Johannes and I were in the mood for shopping," Hermione said, looking at Severus. "Albus considers sending us for another round," she explained to him.

Severus' left eyebrow rose. For a few seconds he looked sceptical, and then he suddenly grinned. "I'm going. I think I could look after a few rompers more. But your darling wife should be at your side, Albus. It will make a better impression."

"That's the question." Albus sat down and poured himself a cup of tea. "I don't think stunning her would do - besides its probably bad for the baby."

Hermione's eyes run from her husband to his friend and back. Sounding like Minerva on a rainy day, she said: "You know, I'm a Gryffindor and even in being a clever Gryffindor - I will probably never learn to follow the cunning of Slytherin minds. So if one of you would care to explain?"

Severus grinned and bit in an apple.

Albus sipped at his tea and added two pieces of sugar more to it. Then he smiled at Hermione almost a bit awkward: "In ...," he pulled his watch out and looked at it, "... approximately two hours a photographer and Miss Rita Skeeter, the new chief reporter of the 'Quibbler', will appear here."  
Hermione looked at her husband and shook her head. "Why do I think I really don't want to know exactly how you persuaded her to work for the 'Quibbler'?"

"Perhaps because it would remind you how you once made her write for the magazine first time?" Albus grinned. "She reminded me of it. Yet I'm nicer than you. I made sure she'll get paid for her work."

"I actually would like to know about your persuading ..." Severus grinned.

Albus got himself a spoon full of jam and sucked at it. "You know, I can be convincing, Severus, when I set my mind to it. Yet I must admit it wasnasy asy in tcasecase. Augustus and I had to use the entire repertoire from blackmail over treats to offers. But in the end we got here. She promised to be a good girl now. And because I'm a good boy, she's to get a nice home story."

"Home story?" Hermione looked very sceptical. "One of 'our reporter met Blah and his enchanting wife in their cosy, little love nest" pieces?"

"Ugh!" Severus looked as if he were to faint now. "And here I thought, my lecture for breakfast couldn't become worse. I can already imagine it: Albus smiling 'lovingly' at his wife while Hermione 'tenderly pats his hand', telling the world how proud she is of her husband ..."

"As a devoted wife I have to be proud of him." Hermione laughed. "I only don't know if I should tell the readers of the 'Quibbler' that in private I always call my husband 'my fluffy white bunny'. What do you think, dear cousin?" She grinned at Severus.

He shuddered. "For a Gryffindor you show sometimes a really amazing amount of cruelness."

Hermione grinned. "Severus, you should be careful with me. If crossed I could come to the idea of telling Skeeter that the only dark spot in our marriage idyll is missing our dear friend Severus." With the sweetest voice she proceeded: "You know, Miss Skeeter, behind his dark mask our Sevvie really hided a heart of gold. He longed so much for true love ..."

"Albus ..." Severus grumbled. "Would you mind very much if I'd throttle your sweet wife?"

"Yes, I think I would." Albus smiled.

Hermione showed Severus her tongue.

But Albus hadn't been ready. Laying his arm around her shoulder, he finished with his most boyish grin: "You know, Severus, a politician needs a wife. If you'd kill Hermione, I'd have to get myself a new one. Finding one isn't too hard, but the taming, Severus! Think of the taming!" 

Being a politician's wife probably never is easy, but during the election campaign Hermione found it especially hard. Although Albus had managed to get the "Quibbler" on his side and the "Daily Prophet" at least silenced when it came to his private life, so Hermione hadn't to fear shocks at breakfast anymore - except of the light shocks she always got when reading about herself as the "sweet" or "devoted" wife - she often wished herself back at Hogwarts. Being the headmaster's wife there had meant that she now and then had to show herself "Madame Dumbledore" by a social gathering, but mostly she'd lived her life as Hermione Granger. But now she sometimes felt as if Hermione Granger had become a vampire who only existed in the night. Over the days her presence wasn't asked because the days were filled with appointments for Madame Dumbledore.

And she was ry bry busy woman, this Madame D.! She starter der days at 7:00 h in going down to the kitchen to talk with Woopy and her fellow house elves about which guests were expected for what meals and what to serve and which china were where to lay out and if Woopy would be so good to iron the red dress robe for the evening and if Larry could manage to polish the master's black boots a bit earlier today because Albus would have to change before tea?

After the kitchen conference Hermione went to breakfast, but her chances to have her tea and toast in solitude were pretty small in these days. Albus had got himself an assistant, a young witch named Isadora Cracklebell, great-granddaughter of his old friend Honorius Cracklebell. She - so at least Severus who by now mostly hide himself in the lab - obviously thought she'd have to make up for her lack of experience with doubled eagerness and with wearing a bun and robes so old fashioned even Minerva McGonagall would have protested to show herself with. And even worse: Isadora was never without her clipboard and a quill and Hermione sometimes thought that she would have made an ideal wife to Percy Weasley because like him her idea of the biggest disaster was her superior five minutes late.

Yet at least Isadora provided Hermione and Severus in the short time when she would seek refuge in his lab, with something to laugh about. The girl seemed absolutely immune to Albus' charm and humour. Although he really tried hard to enchant her - and Albus being Albus, the born pied piper, meant he never stopped in his attempts - Isadora always remind serious and even Albus' nicest compliments never got him much more than a "You have five minutes until Mister Terribly important will come to see you, sir" or a "May I remind you, sir, that we'll have to leave for your speech at the Willy nilly club in 10 minutes?" And if Isadora was after Albus for getting him to an appointment as punctual as she thought he should be, there was nothing that could have stopped her. She kicked him without mercy out of bed; she didn't mind standing in front of his bathroom, telling him "You're already late, sir - in five minutes you'll have to see ..."; she didn't mind Severus hissing at her when she on her hunt for Albus came in his lab and she even didn't shy away when her employer obviously was busy with "private matters" as she'd proven just the other morning when Hermione had almost jumped in a rosebush because Isadora suddenly - just three minutes after Hermione had caught Albus for a little snogging in the garden - had appeared, saying: "I'm sorry to disturb, sir, ma'am, but you're expected in only 16 minutes in Edinburgh." Hermione had only been glad that Isadora hadn't come one minute later. She was sure: Even Albus with his highly developed resistance against feeling embarrassed wouldn't have liked becoming caught by his secretary with the buttons of his robe open on the strategically most interesting places. He had already struggled a bit to hide the bulge in his robe because Hermione had thought it necessary to remind him of his pretty neglected marital duties not only in kissing him passionately, but by fondling his private parts through the robe.

Thinking of it now made Hermione sigh. It had been nice to learn by his prompt reaction, that he missed her too, but to get a bit more out of this missing than a whispered "I shall see to get myself a little free time soon" would have been even nicer, especially because for the rest of the day she hadn't got another minute in private with him. Instead she'd felt in the evening as if she'd have to call Woopy for ironing the "devoted wife"-smile out of her face after she'd wore it for endless hours during Albus' speeches in front of the magic population of Edinburgh and the official dinner afterwards. It had been the fourth one this week though it had been only Wednesday. But thanks to Isadora Crackebell's talent for organization - Merlin damn her for it - Hermione and Albus had managed to attend to two dinners the evening before - the first and early one with the muggle prime minister, the second and later one at home with 10 important witches and wizards as their guests. So after coming back from Edinburgh Hermione had fallen in bed like a stone, asleep the moment her head had hit the pillow.

Probably it was for the first time in a fortnight now, that Hermione sat on the terrace with a book. But although she'd longed for a little reading - she felt already as if her brain would rot away because she only thought of robes, dinners and silly people to convince about voting for Albus - she didn't look at the book. Instead she had a little conversation with baby. She - Hermione always thought of her belly's little inhabitant as a 'her' - had been in great form, moving and turning and kicking her mother's stomach or bladder. Hermione wasn't sure what this meant. She'd seen Poppy Pomfrey a few days before and the mediwitch had been quite satisfied with the baby's development, but Hermione felt as if her child would want to show her that it didn't like her mother running around all day.

"And probably," Hermione whispered, stroking her belly, "you miss your daddy too, little one. But you must know that he doesn't neglect us because he wants to. I'm sure: If the both of us had found a better time to appear in his life, he'd have become the most devoted father you could wish for. He loves us, you know - and even if he isn't with us as much as we'd like, he certainly thinks of you and me ..."

"He does." A long, tender hand stroked over Hermione's belly.

Feeling the soft whiskers of Albus' beard on her neck, she stretched her free hand and laid it on his arm. "Albus - aren't you a bit late already?" She turned and looked around, expecting to see Isadora with her clipboard. "I'm afraid I lost a bit track of your schedule, but wasn't it tea with the Academic Witches Club today? And later an order meeting?" She suppressed a sigh by asking - order's meeting always meant he wouldn't come home before midnight.

He sat down on the chair next to her. "Actually it was, but I've asked Severus to deputize at the order's meeting. He needs to see something else than the lab now and then and he can give the information to me in the morning." Hermione was for a moment a bit sceptical. The last weeks had taught her to keep her expectations rather low. But Albus, seeing the doubt in her eyes, smiled at her. "One could think you wouldn't want me at home for a quiet evening."

"Nonsense!" Hermione said. "You know I do. And the prospect will even make my afternoon. I even won't become jealous about the Academic Witches flirting with you."

"Oh, but they had their flirt with me already." Albus took her hand and pulled it to his lips. Nibbling on her thumb as he often did, he said: "You're really a bit out of my schedule. The tea was for three o'clock and now it's four ..."

"I thought you were to hold a speech and to answer questions?" Hermione asked amazed.

"I made a rather short speech." Albus laid her palm against his cheek now. "I told the ladies that I think women deserve more respect than they get in our community in the moment, but that one could easily and truthfully name me a 'hypocrite' by talking about it because in the last days I didn't show my own wife the respect she deserves. I said that I'd hate to see you as a kind of 'decorative element' in my life - though I would never deny that you're very nice to look at. So I asked the ladies if they would allow me to have a talk with my wife while a member of their club - who was for forty years the person who worked closest with me - would answer all their questions about me and my political ideas. They agreed and so Minerva is having tea now while I'm at least for the rest of the day all yours."

"Albus ..." Hermione almost cried. She'd rather swallowed her tongue than complained to him about feeling neglected, but she'd missed him dreadfully. Yet by her climbing in his lap she looked around nervously. "What have you done with Isadora and her clipboard?" she asked. "You know, kissing you is a bit irritating when one has to fear she'd step in every moment ..."

"She won't." Albus pulled Hermione a bit closer. "I've ordered her to stay with Minerva. And Minerva, good girl as she is, will take Isadora with her to the order's meeting where she can pester Severus about having the protocol neatly done."

"Poor Severus!" Hermione said, snuggling happily closer to her husband.

"For the moment it's better him than me suffering with her." Albus laughed. "I'm to enjoy my day off with you." His hand wandered over her belly to her side and up to her breast, stroking it lightly. "Pregnancy becomes you, Hermione," he whispered and bent down to kiss her.

Hermione had closed her eyes, answering to his sweet kiss eagerly. To feel him so close again made her body hum with desire and his hand on her breast added to the arousal she was feeling. Breaking the kiss she whispered: "What do you think about a nap, Albus?"

"A nap sounds like a wonderful idea ..." He nibbled on her ear again. "But I wouldn't like staying indoors at such a glorious, warm day. So what do you think about running down to the kitchen to get us a little something while I go up and change in something less formal and hot?"

Hermione caught his marauding hand on her breast and kissed it. Thinking of the long, white shirt with tiny buttons from the collar down over the entire length he liked to wear in private, Hermione said: "I hope less formal doesn't mean a hundred buttons and so much fabric one easily could get lost in it ..."

"Hmm ..." Albus made, his eyes twinkling. "One could think you don't like wizard's fashion."

"For being honest: I really don't do," Hermione said. "I mean your robes are nice to look at, but unwrapping you is always a bit complicated." She rose up and kissed the tip of his nose. "Although I have to add, it's always worth it. But I'm going in the kitchen now."

"And I'll see to get myself dressed in something you like," Albus promised and followed her into the house, stroking her backside by it.

Five minutes later Hermione stood on the terrace again, a cradle with fruits, a few sandwiches - Woopy and Larry had been delighted to serve her with - a cake and a bottle of pumpkin juice in her arm. She felt like singing in joy - and wasn't it a day made for singing? The sky was blue and clear as Albus' eyes and the sun felt as if she'd tickle Hermione's skin with thousand of tiny hands and Albus was there and she would have not only the afternoon, but an entire evening and a night with him and no Isadora would keep her away from snogging him! And here he was and Hermione found that he looked very appetizing and - even better - accessible in a blue muggle polo shirt and a wide, cream short, his naked feet in sandals and his mane bound back in a pony tail. She couldn't resist teasing him in tugging lightly at his shorts: "Huuh - aren't you afraid Percival feels restricted?"

Albus waved his finger and made the picnic cradle hover with it. Laying his arm around Hermione's middle, he walked her through the garden to the gate which lead in the meadow, saying: "I promised him you'd set him free soon enough."

"Oh?" Hermione let her hand wander down on his bottom. It was always nice to fondle it a bit, not only because Albus seemed to like it, but because his backside was still firm and well-muscled. "I've never thought of you being one for outdoor activities," she said.

"That comes from marrying me in winter, Darling," he gave back. "Even with warming charms I never liked outdoor shagging in winter much. Probably I should have worked on my charms, but they always had a tendency to wear off just at the wrong moment."

Hermione laughed out loud. "And your passion wasn't enough to keep you warm? Albus, I'm disappointed. I've always thought you were a hot lover."

"Yes, I tried - but it's really distracting when you get snow on your butt by making love," he explained and then chuckled. "It's probably one of the reasons why I knew Hogwarts very well as I came as a teacher. During my last two years as a student I was always on the search for deserted corners. I became so good in finding them; I even could provide my house mates with tips too ..."

"And later, as teacher, you used your knowledge for catching poor students?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Albus, how unfair!"

"I didn't!" he protested. "I was the one who was always whistling during my night patrols and as long as the students weren't exceptionally thick, they could be sure I wouldn't catch them. I had - as my headmaster Armando Dippet sometimes stated - too much of a love life myself for wanting to spend my evenings with supervising detentions."

"Was Headmaster Dippet right?" Hermione asked.

"No, actually he over exaggerated," Albus said. "I was 62 years old when I came back to Hogwarts and though this isn't much for a wizard, it was enough to have me a bit more settled than in younger years. Besides I was in a long term relationship at this time ..."

"You were?" Hermione became very curious. "Who was she?"

"A very strong, beautiful and independent woman - the cousin of Augustus McGonagall, Kassopeia." Albus smiled in remembering. "You would have liked her, Hermione. She was charm professor at Oxford - the first woman in that job and one of the founders of the Academic Witches Club. And she was the only woman I ever wanted to marry - I mean after the rather idiotic engagement to that girl in Rome. With Kassopeia I really meant it ..."

"And why didn't you marry her?" Hermione wanted to know.

Albus sighed. "Because she didn't want me. She said I'd make a nice lover, but probably a lousy husband. Today I think she was right. I really expected her to give up her career for living with me at Hogwarts."

"Buh ..." made Hermione. "I think I wouldn't have liked that either. I mean, she'd probably worked hard to become a professor - so why should she have given that up?"  
"Today I know it was wrong to demand it. But 100 years ago I was an idiot who wanted his wife all to himself. Probably I was even a bit jealous of her career - she was very well renowned in her work while I wasn't entirely sure if my decision for coming back to Hogwarts was really a good move. I never was good in taking orders and even with Armando being more a friend than a superior - there were a lot of things I'd have wanted to change or to do in another way than he did."

They reached the river now. Strolling along, Hermione came back to her almost-predecessor. "What became of your relationship after your proposal was refused?"

Albus sighed again. "As I said: I was an idiot. My pride was so hurt I thought I would have to show Kassopeia that I wouldn't need her. I started an affair with a pretty silly younger witch and Kassopeia - who had quite a temper - sent me a howler."

"Uh!" made Hermione, remembering the screaming, snapping letter Ron had once got from his mother. "I hope you didn't get it in the great hall during a meal."

"It came just there," Albus said. "And it was so quick I didn't stand a chance to run away with it. So the entire school heard how I was advised to learn about thinking with my brain instead of my cock and that - I quote - 'always following the direction in which my various erections were pointing' would get me nowhere in the end. Besides Kassopeia told me I shouldn't show myself in Oxford for the next 50 years because she couldn't give any guarantee she would resist the urge to have my balls for breakfast - boiled, of course."

Hermione laughed. "Sorry," she said, "but I think you deserved it. Though ..." she stopped and laid her arm around his middle, "... I must admit I like your balls where they are ..." For proving it she stretched on her tiptoes, kissed him and stroke over his shorts.

Albus kissed back, laying both his hands on her backside. "You like them even wrapped?" he asked her then. "You know, they like it better if you touch them without so much fabric over them ..."

"I like touching them better when they aren't covered," Hermione smiled. "I only doubt that's the ideal place for undressing you. I'm afraid Isadora and Severus would have the jitters if a picture of us, playing Pan and the nymph, would appear in the newspapers. And even with Skeeter as your pet bug - the 'Daily Prophet' would probably like such a photograph."

"You're right. Therefore I'd rather do Leda and the swan - with me as Leda, of course." He grinned and pointed with his chin to the little island on the middle of the river. "As a boy I often swam over there. It's a nice place with a soft sand beach. And ..." he once again stroked her butt, "... it's easy to ward. Actually it still should have a few wards."

Hermione raised her eyebrow. "Does this mean this island was the place you came with your female friends to?"

"No, my lady, it doesn't." Albus pulled his wand which he had hidden at the side of his shorts, out. "I never was there with a woman. It was my hiding place and I didn't want to share it." He directed the wand at the island and murmured an incantation. "Don't ever say I couldn't do good wards. They're still there - but open now. So if you would get your sweet butt over there?"

Hermione giggled. "Rump, Albus - I'm going to get my rump there." She was pretty proud for being now a perfect animagnus though she still needed a bit more concentration and time than Albus to change her form. So she closed her eyes and thought of becoming a swan, feeling the now only soft prickle of growing feathers and changing. Opening her eyes again she heard water splatter and saw Albus - still in his human form - just jumping in the river. She followed him there and if she could in her bird form, she'd laughed because he obviously had to struggle against the current. For her it was easy to glide over it with grace. Only waddling on land she didn't like much, so she immediately changed back to her human form as she arrived on the island.

It was really a beautiful place with soft, white sand and a few old trees, spending not only shadow, but with their roots, paled and smoothened by standing in the water during high floats, offering places to seat on comfortably. Hermione sank down on one of them, pulled her wand out and made with an "accio cradle" the picnic fly over the river. Then she looked at Albus who just came out of the water, hair and beard dripping. He slipped out of his shirt, laid it on the soft sand and changed it to a blanket, and then he opened his shorts, let them drop down and smiled at Hermione. "I promised: No buttons ..."

Hermione liked looking at him. Despite his age, she found him still handsome and - what was even more - she loved him. To her he was the most beautiful man and even in comparing him to his younger self - no, she didn't want him more slender or more muscled or more tanned or something else. He was the man she'd fallen in love with, he was the man she desired and it touched her every time to see that now he obviously was entirely at ease with being naked around her. Sometimes it even amused her because he obviously was more comfortable with her than she herself was with him. The thought made her giggle and open her shirt.

"What amuses you?" Albus had lay down on the blanket and looked now at her.

Hermione slipped out of her shirt, hung it over a branch, and opened her bra - Albus had been right: The pregnancy became her, her breasts had grown and she found herself looking rather sexy with the bigger boobs - and smiled back. "You know, I just thought it's actually quite funny. You're the Victorian - and I'm the prude."

"No, I don't think so." He watched how she now hung her jeans over the branch too. "A prude wouldn't undress so gracefully ..."

Hermione, now only wearing her white undies, looked a bit sceptically to her image, mirrored in the water. "Hmm," she made and stroke over her belly. "I'm already becoming pretty fat."

"Women!" Albus turned his eyes. "Come here!" he demanded, stretching his arm. "I'll show you how I see you ..."

Hermione first climbed out of her undies, and then she lay down next to him. "In a few weeks I'll really be fat!" she complained.

"I'm looking forward to it." Albus bent over her, stroking her belly. "I like very much what a baby does to your body," he said, his hand now on its way to her full breasts. "You're becoming more womanly and more enchanting every day. Yesterday during my silly speech I once almost lost track because I looked at you - and suddenly the only thing I could think of was pulling you into the next dark corner and ..." he stopped talking and kissed her, his tongue demanding entrance to her mouth, his hand cupping her breast.

Hermione let herself fall in this kiss and the pleasure his stroking worked on her. It had been too long since they've last slept together - once again almost three weeks. But now his mouth glided down over her chin and neck and she arched her back presenting her erect nipples to him and it was bliss and pain in one, as his tongue started to tease it. "Albus ..." she whispered, massaging his scalp by it, "I missed you."

He laid on his side, half over her and so Hermione had only access to his back, but she felt on her tight his already heavy, half-erect member and as always the proof of his arousal sent shivers down her spine. Now his lips blew kisses on her belly and down to her mound and she found herself whispering: "Oh yes, Albus - that's how I dreamed off you in the lonely nights in Beauxbaton. I missed you so much it almost hurt and I ... I touched myself when it was too bad. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it were your mouth and your hands. I imagined you filling me, your weight on my body, your cock moving in me and the thoughts made me come ..."She hadn't intended to tell him, but now it suddenly seemed right to share this moments with him.

He obviously liked it. His eyes were dark as he looked down on her and his voice even huskier than she was use to: "Show me, love ..."

Hermione swallowed. This she hadn't expected and she wasn't sure if she really would like to expose herself so much to him.

He seemed to understand her hesitating. Taking her in his arms again, he pressed her to his long body and, still holding her close, he said quietly: "You remember the letter you wrote me from Beauxbaton in your second week? It reached me here on the island - and it made me feel very young. I read that you miss me - especially in the nights. My voice, my hands, to laugh and to talk with me, to touch me, to be touched ..." He cleared his throat. "I wondered how far this missing would go. I wondered if you would touch yourself - and the very idea of it aroused me very much ..."

Hermione swallowed again. "I touched myself in Beauxbaton. I just did after writing that letter to you ..." she whispered in his ear.

"I would have loved to watch you ..." he gave back, no louder than her.

"I would have loved to see you as you got the letter. I wondered if it would ..." She hesitated. "I mean - you said ... you said, it aroused you ... and ... Albus?" She blushed deeply.

"I did," he answered the question she hadn't dared to ask. "I closed my eyes, laid back and thought of you and your hands and your mouth and your scent and your body against mine. Getting an erection then I had no choice: Satisfying myself or jumping in the cold water. Cold water makes my rheumatics worse, so I decided for the other way to get rid off."

Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed a third time. Curling a strand of his hair around her hand, she gave herself a push and said: "If I would touch myself in front of you ... would you ...?"

"Hmm!" He purred, obviously liking the idea. "Sounds like a deal - I've only one condition: I want to watch your climax, but for myself - I'd rather like to come later, inside you ..."

Hermione smiled happily. Once again he seemed to have read her mind - or was it simply that their ideas about sex were so alike? She'd come to like the variety and his experience in making love very much. She loved how quick and easy he could make her come with his talented fingers, she loved to touch and to play with him, she loved when he performed oral sex on her - and heavens, he was good at it! And she liked to suck him until he was as hard as a rock and panting. She'd even learned that she could make him scream by using a finger to stimulate his prostate, but he'd never allowed her to make him come in her mouth. He always stopped her just a moment before and always for the same reason: "I want to come inside you."

This was just as she wanted it. She was sure, she wouldn't mind tasting him - actually she even felt a bit curious about. With young Albus she would have at least tried once. But with Albus as he was it was another matter. She knew by now that his old body needed always a day or two to recover from a climax. Yet with knowing his body's reaction so well as he did, this certainly didn't mean he'd have a problem with pleasing his young wife. In the contrast to most young men Albus was able to control himself almost perfect. He could avoid reag thg the point of no return almost perfectly and this meant that he never came before Hermione was entirely and thoroughly satisfied. He got his greatest pleasure from playing her virtuously and making her climaxing as often and as hard as possible. After the fourth or fifth time she mostly was exhausted and then she asked him to come - and it wasn't only her sense of fairness, but that she loved to watch him then. The prolonging of his arousal obviously made for very intense orgasms which had him panting and moaning and sweating and sometimes almost passing out. And sometimes it even looked as if he was in pain, but he'd assured her of this not being the case. Yet even more than watching him during his climax, Hermione loved the precious moments just afterwards when he was still in her, but laying motionless in her arms, limb, his body glimmering with sweat, his eyes closed, struggling for breath.

She was always aware with whom she was sleeping. Knowing him so intimidate as she did now hadn't reduced her respect for him, just on the contrary. Part of his sex appeal for her was the fact that he radiated power, that she felt his strength in every movement, in every whispered word, in every touch. But part of it was also the vulnerability he showed to her in these sweet moments after his climax when he let her keep and hold him. It made her feel strong and womanly and very close to him. And she knew without him ever saying a word about it, that he ht alt allowed himself this time of absolute rest and abandon with other women. This knowledge gave her a feeling of exclusivity she dwelled on when without him. She wasn't bothered by jealousy when hearing about his past or seeing him flirt with a woman – and he still liked to do so very much. Hermione could smile about it. She was absolutely sure of him.

And there was something else: She simply knew – once again without ever asking him about – that this certain Slytherin's "subtlety" in matters of sex didn't mean only finesse in technique, but subtlety in matters of intimacy too. Hermione was sure he'd never shared so much of it with one of the other women in his life. As much beds he'd come through, as much as he'd liked and perhaps even loved and respected the women he'd slept with – to him it obviously made a difference that Hermione was his lawfully wedded wife and soon the mother of his child. This meant an openness he'd probably never showed before and it meant now, that Hermione wanted to give back what she received from him. So she turned on her back and laid her hands on her breasts, looking up to him.

Albus immediately knew what Hermione was starting. Moving down on the blanket, he sat on his knees between her spread legs and – true to this promise – his hands went down to his private parts.

Hermione looked at him – and felt as if even an entire herd of wild photographing Creevey trampling over the place wouldn't get her to look away from what she thought the most erotic sign she'd ever seen. She had always loved Albus' hands. She remembered that his long, tender hands with the sensitive fingers had been the first feature on him she'd noticed – even before his famous blue eyes and the hair. And for all the years in Hogwarts watching Albus' hands had been a secret pleasure for her, especially after she'd learned that his face always showed only what he wanted to display. It looked even in crisis calm, but by watching his hands Hermione had sometimes got a look behind his disciplined mask. She remembered his hands as once, in her fifth year, Dolores Umbridge from the ministry had tried to overpower him, announcing her plan in a speech. Albus had managed a friendly smile, but she'd seen the firm grip around his goblet – so firm the knuckles on his hands had shone white. And as he'd asked Severus to go back to Voldemort, his left hand had been a tight fist whiles the right hand, open and hanging down at his side, had trembled.

But mostly his hands meant magic to her. He could do more with crooking one finger as most wizards managed with swinging their wands and she had always been fascinated by it. And now he used his fingers for touching himself. His left hand was closed around his shaft – much more firmly than Hermione had ever gripped him – stroking up and down while his right played with his testicles, rolling and massaging them. Yet his eyes were on Hermione who now had her right hand between her legs and rubbed her clitoris with her thumb while her middle and index finger filled her hot channel. Normally, when doing so, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine it would be his cock moving in her, but now she looked at him and this made the act better than it had ever felt when she was alone. She found herself coming to the brink of climax only after two or three minutes. Her clitoris became as always almost too sensitive to touch, so she refrained from stroking the part over it and her body buckled and arched on his own accord and she heard herself moan: "Albus – I'm so close …"

"Yes, my Darling – come for me!" he answered and it was as if she'd just waited for him to order her. Now pushing three fingers inside the tight heat she felt the red wave taking her and pleasure exploded in her body. And then, as she still struggled for breath, shaken by the aftermaths of her orgasm, he was over her like a predator over his prey and with one forceful stroke his rock hard shaft filled her and she heard herself scream and wrapped her legs around him, clinging to his back with her hands, pressing to him as tight as she could. It was as if they become one flesh and one body and one mind and they moved together in a perfect rhythm and he hit once and once again that special spot inside her and she forgot time and space and everything and only felt his skin under her lips and the bliss of being connected to him and the roaring of her blood as she once again came and fell and flight in the same moment.

She meant she'd needed an endless time to come back to coherent thinking, but his kisses on her forehead and the stroking of her sides brought her back to reality and she smiled at him. He was still inside her and, as he proved with a little movement of his hips, still hard. And only this little push made her shudder again and she laid her hands on his bottom, keeping him in place. "One day you'll kill me, you insatiable Slytherin!" she said.

His smile became a smug grin. "Don't say you're already done, Darling." He moved his hip once again to tease her. "I just feel up for …"

"No, Albus Dumbledore!" Hermione laughed. "You promised me picnic and I'm starving now."

"Well, well," he sighed and turned at his side. "If my passion for you isn't enough to satisfy all your needs …" He rose up to his knees and began to rummage in the picnic cradle.

Hermione purred and went on her knees too. Leaning against his back, she kissed his shoulder and shoved her hand in his lap. Gripping his erection firmly, she whispered: "I didn't say I'm done entirely. I only need a break and something to eat. You know, you're rather exhausting."

"That sounds better." He presented her an apple and a peach he'd taken out of the cradle. "Fruits?"

Hermione took the apple and bite in it. Chewing she laid back and said: "I could come in use with picnics."

"Me too." Albus turned to her, the peach in his hand. "I only don't know what I find more appetizing: The peach or you. But …," grinning he bite into the fruit, parted it, took the stone out and looked then on the two parts and back on Hermione, "I think I can have both." He put the peach's half's on her breast so that they cupped her nipples. "Hmm – peach served on Hermione – that looks very delicious."

Hermione laughed. "Did your mother never tell you, you shouldn't play with your food?"

"My mother always said, the eyes need feasts too," Albus answered and bent down to lick the peach juice from her breast. "Hmm …" he made again, looking up. "Actually I like peaches with clothed cream …"

"But you don't have cream here." Hermione laughed. She loved his playful moods and – the cool fruit on her skin felt arousing.

"I'm a wizard, sweet wife!" Albus took his wand from his shorts and raised it. "Accio cream!" he commanded.

Hermione – though she tried to lay still for not losing the peaches – had to hold her belly in laughing. She just imagined a harmless muggle wanderer coming along the river. From Dumbledore Hall he wouldn't see more than a few old, withered stones and sign "Entrance forbidden – danger of collapse." But a bowl with cream flying through the meadow and over the river he would see – and probably think he'd spent too much time in the sun.

Now the bowl was there – Albus had caught it with one hand and immediately started to spread the cream on Hermione. He covered her breasts with it and licking his fingers he said: "That's really the nicest way I ever saw peaches and cream served."

"Only I've never thought I was to become your plate." Hermione teased him. "What do you think, the Academic Witches would say to that?"

"I don't think you'd like that." Albus licked over her skin. "They'd probably kill to become my dish …"

"Oh heavens!" Hermione turned her eyes. "You know, your modesty overwhelms me. It's so good you're neither smug nor arrogant. I really couldn't stand that."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: With a little help from my enemy …

Albus shifted in his bed, pulling the blanket a bit tighter around Hermione and himself. After a heavy thunderstorm it rained in thick drops, the wind rattled at the windows and despite the fire in the fireplace he felt how the damp from the garden penetrated through the walls into the dark room. Cautiously he tried to stretch his left leg – weather like this always made his rheumatic becoming worse. This time it was his left knee which was aching - a numb pain, just enough to make him uncomfortable, but not enough to leave the warmth of the bed for getting a potion. He hoped he'd fall asleep soon despite the knee, but knew in the same time that his mind wouldn't stop spinning in the next two hours.

Being as old and experienced as he was, Albus was rarely surprised by his fellow human beings and their emotions anymore and he had of course noticed that the verbal battling of Severus and Hermione had lost the acid of former times. He'd also noticed how close they had become over the last weeks and would have had to be deaf, blind and utterly insensitive if he wouldn't have noticed the way Severus was looking at Hermione when he felt unwatched. Yet Albus was neither deaf nor blind nor insensitive, but fully aware of Hermione just being what the healer would have ordered for getting Severus Snape out of the misery which was his life. Hermione with her quick wit, her intelligence and independence of thinking, with her thirst for knowledge, her fierce loyalty, her outstanding courage, her warmth and her passion – if Albus would have been able to create a mate for Severus, he'd probably made a Hermione for him. And knowing that Hermione had learned to look through the boy's sneer and malice to see the brave and honourable man behind it that she'd even learned to appreciate his dark sense of humour and his protectiveness about the people he cared for – Albus was glad about it. And to think of them both coming closer – hopefulne dne day even close enoughbecobecome an item – had been for months a thought Albus felt warmed by. To left Hermione and his child back in Severus' care would make it easier to go.

It even gave an additional sense to Hermione being pregnant. Albus knew Severus and his highly developed sense of fairness as well as he knew about Severus no less developed pride. The thought that being with him could mean a woman sacrifice something she could get with another partner would probably keep him away from forming a close bound with her. Even with Severus never wanting to have children of his own, even with his dislike of most children – Albus was certain that he would never marry a woman who wanted to get a family. So with Hermione having a baby – Albus could hardly imagine that she'd wish for an entire quidditch team – would probably make it possible for Severus to see himself as a potential long time partner for her.

So far, so good – and under these circumstances Albus hadn't wondered about what obviously had happened between the two of them in Paris. Of course – they hadn't told him, probably an unspoken mutual agreement of sparing him. But even if they would have stormed into his hotel room that night, shouting: "So sorry, Albus, but we couldn't help ourselves – we just had to snog like mad on the riverside" it couldn't have been more obvious. Even with Severus being a Slytherin and as a former spy used to hiding fee feelings – in acting around Albus he wasn't much better than his partner in crime. And as far as she was concerned, Albus was by now convinced that even Ron Weasley as her husband would have noticed that something was wrong and though Ron was probably as sensitive as a brick wall he wouldn't have needed to Her Hermione when she was with Severus. Hermione on her own was enough to make the most naïve and harmless of husbands wonder.

Her clinging to him, her desperate attempts to show him that she loved him and only him and no one else – she reminded Albus of a first year, a very small and shy boy he'd once seen walking down the steps to the dungeons, his eyes closed and repeating to himself over and over: "No, I'm not afraid. Professor Snape won't do anything bad to me. No, I'm not afraid …"

The little one in Hogwarts Albus had managed to comfort. With Hermione he hadn't found a way yet. He knew that he actually should talk to her – and probably with Severus too. But for once it wt lat lack of time which prevented him from doing so, but the fact that in the three days since Severus and Hermione avoided even to look at each other Albus hadn't succeeded in coming to an agreement with himself. It was once again a lesson about the difference between academic knowledge and felt emotions. Only it was his emotions this time and they were much more mixed and even shaken up than he would have ever imagined. He loved Hermione. So much was clear. And that this love meant he wished her a happy future, a future in which she wasn't alone, but loved, admired and cared for by a good and decent man was clear also. So clear as that Severus was a good and decent man. But knowing all that and repeating it to himself at least three times a day didn't change the fact that Albus fought with the "green eyed monster", called jealousy. And it sent him to live through the entire catalogue of feelings connected with jealousy.

He was angry – so angry he sometimes wanted to shout: "Couldn't you wait the few weeks until I'm death?" And he was furious and sometimes so cynic he wanted to congratulate Skeeter and Fudge because they'd once managed to get something right. Yet the cynic mood mostly got him to one he despised even more – and even in his biggest rage against Severus and Hermione he never was so hard to them than he was to himself when he felt self-pity. He was human enough to allow himself feelings of hurt – this was part of loving and losing this love. But wailing in self-pity he'd never forgive himself.

Hermione turned and laid an arm and a leg over him as she often did in sleep. Albus felt her belly – still not very much, but certainly rounder than before her pregnancy – on his side. Cautiously he moved his hand down and laid it against the soft skin. He'd done soularularly the last nights and sometimes he'd felt a slight flutter there, not more than the touch of a butterfly's wing. But even if it had been only a pro of of his imagination: He was very much aware of the baby's presence and in his mind he talked to him, telling the unborn how much he loved it and how much he would have given to only see it once.

The storm outside seemed at last to calm; the rain didn't bang against the windows anymore, but became a soft murmur. Albuved ved his knee again – it started to swell and to ache more and he knew it wouldn't let him sleep. As much as he hated to leave the warm bed, he would have to go up to get a potion. So he carefully tried to shove Hermione a bit aside, then he slowly rose up, picked his wand and spectacles from the night stand and slipped in his old, woollen dressing gown which had lain on the chair next to the bed. But by searching for his slippers he banged his swollen knee against the bed and couldn't suppress a moan.

"Albus?" Hermione sounded sleepy. "Why you're up?"

"Hush!" he whispered. "I only need to spend a Knut …" He didn't know why he lied to her – probably it was his Slytherin pride which didn't like to be pitied.

Waiting for a moment motionless, he heard the rustle of fabric. Then her breathing became regular and deep again. Bending down to find the slippers, he suddenly heard another sound – light steps, walking up and down restlessly. He knew immediately what this meant and felt a wave of anger. It was enough to make him forget about the slippers and his already cold feet. He marched to the door and stormed up the stairs to the potion lab. Bursting in he saw what he'd expected: Severus – still dressed in the grey trousers and the dark green shirt he'd wore all day – was wandering through the lab, his forearm clutched tightly to his body, his hair hanging in greasy strands over his pale, sweaty face.

Albus raised his wand. Directing it at the young man, he almost shouted the incantation to stop the burning in the dark mark. Without waiting for the effect of his spell, he started to rant: "Severus, you're the most pigheaded idiot I've ever had the misfortune to meet. Why the hell didn't you wake me? Did you intend to suffer heroically all night?"

Severus sank down in the worn chair next to the little fireplace. He sounded like a skulking child as he said: "I know you've had a hard day …"

"You stubborn git!" Albus really was furious. "Do you think my days will become less hard when I have to worry about you too?"

Severus sunk his head. "There's no need to insult me …" he grumbled. Looking up again, he added tiredly: "To state the obvious: The dark lord is once again back and very much interested in seeing his followers."

Albus pushed his wand in his sleeve. "When did he call?"

"One hour …" Severus looked at the wizard's watch on thetelptelpiece. "Yes, it was exactly one hour and 10 minutes before."

"Hmm," Albus made. "It's rather unusual he calls his followers in the middle of the night, isn't it? What do you think? Is he up to an attack?"

Severus shook his head. "I can't imagine. He was quiet for months. It's not like him to start an attack without any preparation. So I'd rather say he's planning …"

Albus sighed. "Let's go down in the study and open the floo. If you're right Lucius will come to inform us."

Severus rose up and came to the door. "I wish I could be as optimistic about that as you are …"

Albus limbed already down the stairs. Now, with the rage gone, he felt the pain in his knee once again and wished he could have a painkilling potion and go back to his bed.

"What's with your leg, Albus?" Severus asked. "You're limping."

"Thanks for telling. I wouldn't have noticed." Albus was still angry with Severus. Opening the door to the study, he commanded "lumos". The candles lightened up, the girl with the guitar over the mantelpiece awoke, and her hand fell on her instrument and made a disharmonic sound. Albus didn't look up, but concentrated on the fire place. A quick incantation made a fire in it burn, another opened the ward behind for Lucius Malfoy. Albus then sunk himself on the sofa, laid his wand on the table in front of him and put his glasses down. As he just started to massage the bridge of his nose – by now he got a headache too – Hermione busted in.

"Albus? Are you there? Professor McGonagall is on the floo in the bedroom. Harry woke her up – his scar burns. He thinks Voldemort is back."

The pain in his head made Albus answer sharper than he actually had intended. "Why do you think I sit here in the middle of the night?"

"Sorry for telling you something your omniscience made you already know," Hermione promptly snapped. "Don't you want to come up and talk with Minerva?"

"No," Albus said curtly. "Tell her I know and I'll come over in the morning and talk to Harry and her."

"Yes, sir!" Hermione managed to make the two short words sound sarcastic. She obviously didn't like to be ordered around like his servant and disappeared in the style of a "royal princess on pissed off level four" as her friend Ron would have said.

In the door she bumped almost into Severus and even at that moment they both avoided to look at each other. But as Hermione was out of sight, Severus said quietly: "There was no need to shout at her, Albus."

It was the last straw. Albus exploded at once. "In the moment she's still my wife."

It hardly happened to him anymore that he let his temper have free reign and it was probably the first time alf alf a century he'd spoken so entirely without thinking first. Oddly enough he felt better afterwards. The pressure on his head was gone and he wasn't so cold anymore. Nevertheless he knew it had been wrong to shout at Severus and he closed his eyes and searched for the right words to apologize.

Suddenly he felt Severus' hand on his knee. His cold, but tender fingers moved over the swollen bone. "It's your rheumatic again, isn't it?" he asked, went on his knees and pushed Albus' shirt upwards. "I've got you a cooling gel. And," he pulled a vial out of his pocket and gave it to Albus, "a painkiller – nothing strong, but it should work against the headache too." Out of another vial he spread a blue, strong smelling gel on Albus' knee.

It helped almost immediately and Albus sighed in relief. Looking down on the black head of his friend, he said quietly: "Thank you, Severus. And …," he hesitated, but not because he didn't want to apologize, but because words seemed so lame. "I'm sorry, Severus. I really am."

Severus didn't answer. Instead he put the gel back in his pocket, took Albus' legs, helped him to lay them on the sofa and put a plaid over it. "Take the potion," he said then. "Malfoy is bad enough without a headache."

Albus was aware that this was not the best moment for "the talk", but after Malfoy's visit it would probably be even worse. So he opened the vial, drank the bitter potion and said: "Severus, I know it's not your fault."

Severus looked at him, his face a neutral mask, but the black eyes glittering. "You're wrong, Albus," he said determined. "It's in any case more mine than Hermione's fault. She didn't do anything wrong. It was me who kissed her in Paris. I'm sorry for it. It won't happen again."

Albus wondered. Why he'd needed so long to open his mouth? He should have known that he could trust in Severus not to over dramatize. Probably he was less of a drama queen than Albus himself. Yet Albus tried to overcome his tendency to sound like a Victorian and produced a small smile. "I wouldn't call it 'wrong-doing', Severus, but pre pretty sure Hermione kissed you back."

At least: He'd managed to surprise the boy – even so much he let his cold mask drop for a moment, making big eyes: "She told you?"

"No, Severus, she didn't," Albus said calmly. "But if she hadn't wanted to kiss you back, you'd probably get a slap in the face and a kick in your genitals. And afterwards Hermione wouldn't have avoided looking at you, but sending daggers with every gaze."

Severus sunk his head. Playing with the empty vial on the table, he said: "There's something you probably don't know already. It was Hermione who broke the kiss, saying 'But I love Albus'."

Albus sighed. "And now you can ask yourself to whom she has to tell this – to herself or to you?"

"Albus!" Severus obviously couldn't sit still any longer. He jumped to his feet and started pacing through the room. "You don't doubt her love, do you?"

"No, I don't." Albus' headache was better, so he put his spectacles back on their right place and opened his eyes. "But I don't think a woman can love only one man. Hermione loves me – but one day she'll probably love you."

Severus turned around. His voice sounded like breaking ice as he said: "Albus, I've always hated your meddling in other people's lives. I would be grateful – very grateful indeed – if you would stop meddling with things which are in the future – or not, as the case may be. And in contrast to you I don't believe a woman needs a man to become a complete person. If Hermione ever will need a second husband she'll find herself one. And if you're looking out for a father to your child, then please: Try Harry bloody Potter or Ron stupid Weasley. I don't like children and if you think I'd start to like one only because it's got your blue eyes, then you're terribly wrong. I'm already shuddering by the thought it could inherited your …"

He didn't get a chance to finish his line because the flames in the fireplace suddenly roared and became green. A few seconds later the tall frame of Lucius Malfoy, still in complete death eater attire, only with the silver mask in his hand instead of in front his face, stepped out. Brushing a bit of soot from his robe, Malfoy looked around the room and to the painted ceiling. "Nice," he said then, pointing to the ceiling. "Original?"

"Yes," Albus answered. "Cuvillies."

"Oh? I didn't know he ever worked in England." Malfoy slipped out of his robe and throw it over a chair.

"One of my ancestors's met him in Munich and persuaded him to come over the channel," Albus said.

"Did you come to talk art?" Severus sneered.

Lucius Malfoy looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Then he sa bored tone: "Couldn't you train your pet spy in manners, while he's on his holidays from hell, Dumbledore? When the war is over he'll probably need to have a civilized conversation now and then."

Albus only smiled his usual benevolent smile, but his eye eyes didn't twinkle. "Is Riddle to start an attack?" he asked then.

Lucius Malfoy leaned back in the chair as if he were at a party. "Yes," he said. "He is. So what do you want to hear first? The good or the bad news?"

"As you like, Lucius." Albus wasn't to provoke easily.

"Let's start with the good news then." Lucius poured himself a glass of fire whiskey from the tray on the table. "Our oh so powerful lord and master seems to get the jitters when he thinks about a certain 'old fool' – I'm sorry but that's how he mostly addresses you, Dumbledore – becoming minister of magic. Therefore he wants to spit in your soup in his probed manner: He plans to attack the most prominent members of the Dumbledore Adorer's Association in the hope that people will learn from that to better stay away from you. So tomorrow at this time the dark lord's faithful death eaters will storm the weasel's burrow." He looked at his well manicured hands and murmured. "I only hope the ruin won't break down on me by the first little curse."

Albus still smiled. "I don't think so, Lucius. The Burrow is much more stable than most people think. Besides it's heavily warded."

"Dumbledore!" Lucius shook his head. "Are you becoming senile? You don't really believe that a few wards will keep 20 death eaters – with Bellatrix Lestrange leading the troop – away? Even your wards here wouldn't keep up from them for long …"

"But probably long enough to get the aurors round," Albus answered. "But ...," he once again put his spectacles up and massaged his nose, "let me think. Ronald and Virginia Weasley are safe at Hogwarts. The twins are living over their shop in Diagon Alley, Bill is still in Egypt, and Charlie is in Romania. So we have Molly, Arthur and Percy at the Burrows." He wrinkled his forehead. "To keep them away would endanger Lucius …" he said quietly, more to himself than to the two listening men.

"Thanks for thinking of me!" Malfoy sneered. "But I don't think the dark lord is suspicious of me. I'm high in his esteem after killing our dear Severus. So I think you can warn the Weasleys. They will probably have to build a new home after the attack, I'v I've always thought the best way to make their shag a decent place is burning it down."

"I think we'll sacrifice the Burrow in fact," Albus said thoughtfully. "Besides I think we should sacrifice a Weasley too. I could do with a funeral before the election."

"What?" Lucius grinned. "Dumbledore, you start to frighten me. I always thought you're not Slytherin enough, but now you're becoming even a bit too much Slytherin for my taste."

"I wish you were more of a Slytherin!" Severus said. "Couldn't you try a bit thinking now and then? Dumbledorrtairtainly isn't to kill a Weasley."

"No, I'm not." Albus still massaged the bridge of his nose. "But the uproar a killed Weasleuld uld make I'd like very much. I'm pretty sure it would make the election children's game."

"The dark lord doesn't believe so," Lucius Malfoy said. "He's convinced people will run away and hide then."

"He underestimates the British wizards and witches," Albus stated calmly. "In this he makes the same mistake as Fudge. Both believe that people rather hide liv live under terror than to fight. I don't believe so. People in general are alike to rats – which are pretty intelligent animals. If you corner a rat and it becomes convinced it hasn't got a way out anymore, it attacks. Until now most people didn't feel cornered and Fudge always confirmed their belief that laying low would be enough to avoid becoming a target of Riddle. In his dealings with Harry Potter Fudge even tried to prove this. It was always a kind of 'if the boy wouldn't mess around with the dark lord, the dark lord wouldn't want to kill him' story Fudge told."

"You're right," Malfoy said thoughtfully. "A death Weasley would probably make people feel cornered. I only would like to know how you intend to get your death Weasley. The Severus act won't work again because I won't be alone in the Burrow. And Bellatrix doesn't trust me. If I would storm first and then maintain I've just killed the first Weasley who came in front of my wand, she'd certainly want to see the body."

"And mental as she is, she'd probably even play a bit to make sure it's really and absolutely death," Severus added bitterly.

"And with our lord not accompanying us to the Burrow, Bellatrix would perhaps even wish to get him a trophy. So your talent in changing bones to bodies won't help much," Lucius said to Albus.

"Hmm …" he made. "What do you think, Lucius: Who would believe a death eater if he would deny a murder I accuse him of?"

"Huh?" Malfoy obviously didn't understand.

But Severus did. "That's not too bad an idea, Albus," he said. "And you could even find the body yourself."

"Indeed. The Weasleys are friends of mine; Arthur is supposed to be mye my right hand. So I would of course hurry to help when his house is attacked. Only I'd come too late to save Molly who was alone at home during the attack."

"Because Arthur – devoted to you and his duties at your side – was with you in …" Severus looked at Albus.

"… A most public place," Albus finished.

"I take it that Mistress Weasley won't be at the Burrow tomorrow?" Lucius asked.

"Right," Albus nodded.

"Nevertheless you'll blame the death eaters afterwards – hmm …" Malfoy wasn't entirely convinced about the plan. "You know a few of them are still undercover, living their daily life as respected members of our community. They will tell that you're lying."

Albus looked at him over the rim of his spectacles. "I don't think so," he said almost cheerfully. "As you and Severus were often telling me: The death eaters aren't much in contact with each other. Most of them meet only when Riddle calls them. If Arthur, the aurors and I are quick enough at the Burrows, we can produce a nice mess – afterwards no death eater will know exactly what happened there."

"We can even produce a death eater who maintains he did the murder," Severus added. "If the wards are down, I can apparate in the house and shout something like 'I got the bitch' out of a window. If there's enough mess no one will notice there was one death eater too much …"

"That's true." Malfoy rose and took his cloak. "It sounds like we're going to have fun." He marched over to the fire place. "The gentlemen won't miss me? I'll enjoy the gathering tomorrow more when I'll get a little rest before. Until tomorrow then." With a slight bow he added: "My regards to your wife, Dumbledore. I hope she won't mind I kept you out of bed so long." And with another mock bow he threw floo powder into the fire and stepped in, calling "Malfoy Mansion."

"I never liked his sense of humour much." Severus grumbled as his old housemate had disappeared.

Albus smiled. "I'm not a great admirer of it either. But you must admit: Lucius does well as a spy."

"If only I could trust him." Severus pushed a strand of black hair out of his forehead. Then he rose and went to the fireplace. "Shall I call the Burrow? I think the Weasleys should be informed as quickly as possible."

"Yes, please do. I think its best they come through." Albus got up too and limbed to his desk. Opening a drawer he got himself a little bag with lemon drops, put one in his mouth and hoppled to the door then.

Severus looked after him. "What are you up to?"

"I'm getting myself socks and slippers," Albus said. "Besides I wake Hermione. Shouting at her I'd probably survive. But not informing her about a planned attack on the Weasleys – I think this could get me to sleep on the sofa for an entire week."

Hermione didn't sleep, but was reading. Albus wasn't surprised about that. He had known she was waiting eagerly for some information and even if it hadn't been her inborn curiosity which had kept her awake – the anger about his tone would have done so.

Albus sighed inwardly. As much as he loved her – sometimes he couldn't help remembering that life as a bachelor had been easier. As such he'd have simply accio his slippers and socks instead of limping up the stairs. And hell, his knee just started puckering and swelling again – it obviously didn't like his running up and down the house.

Now Hermione had noticed him staying in the threshold. She laid her book down and only asked: "Finished?"

"No, unfortunately not." He tried to avoid limping – he didn't want a sympathy bonus when he'd just crossed her. But the bedroom was big and the bed stood on a little platform with two stairs. Reaching there, he found his slippers standing neatly next to the nightstand – obviously Hermione had put them there. But now his feet were so icy the slippers wouldn't be enough to get them warm enough, so he sat down on his side of the bed, waved his wand and commanded wearily: "Accio woollen socks." A drawer in his closet opened and a pair of thick, woollen socks sailed through the room in his outstretched hand.

"Albus …" Hermione sounded not too friendly. "It's not my fault when Severus is too stubborn to wake you."

He unfolded the socks. "You're right, Hermione. I'm sorry …" He suddenly felt bone-tired and looked longingly at the bed. Yet he knew he couldn't lie down. He had to speak with Arthur and Molly first and he had to make sure his plan would work and then he'd have to think about hiding Molly – or better said: Persuading her to act the body and … but first he really had to do something about his frozen feet and so he bent down. The right foot was easy enough, but for the left …

Suddenly Hermione was in front of him. Kneeling down, she took the sock out of his hand. "You really shouldn't complain about Severus," she ranted. "You're not an iota better than he is – you're probably even worse." She took his foot in her hands and then shook her head. "It's unbelievable. You're already suffering with rheumatic so much you can hardly crawl, but you're running around barefooted."

Despite his tiredness Albus laughed. "Your metaphors are a bit out of form tonight, Hermione. Some one who's hardly up to crawling can't run around."

Hermione had started to rub his foot. "Don't lecture me, Albus. I'm already angry with you!" she said with a furious gaze at him.

He laid his hand in her hair, grateful for the warmth her fingers were spending. "I'm really, truly sorry, my love. Sometimes I'm an idiot who doesn't deserve a wife like you."

"At least you know it," she grumbled.

He felt that her anger at him was already shrinking. Using his chance – he wasn't a Slytherin and a trained tactician for nothing – he laid a finger under her chin, pulled it softly up, opened in the same time his knees and made her tumble against him. Embracing her he whispered: "At least: Being an idiot doesn't prevent me from loving you."

"Does that mean you want me to forget about your tone?" Hermione stretched and looked in his eyes.

"Yes, Hermione – it does. And if you're just in forgiving – I was a bit beside myself the last days …" he said quietly. "I apologize …"

She watched him for a moment, and then she swallowed. "Actually it should be me who asks you for forgiveness …" she said then slowly.

"I don't think you did anything wrong." They both knew what he was talking about.

Hermione sunk her head. A moment she was quiet, then she whispered: "I love you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I do." He once again laid a finger under her chin and made her look up to him. Seriously he said hen: "One of the things I appreciate about you – very much indeed – is your heart. It's big enough to give me everything I need and it's big enough to have space for other people too …"

She swallowed again. "But it's only you I want for a lover," she said then quietly. "You give me everything I need – and even more. Marrying you was the best thing that ever happened to me …"

"I could have done worse myself," he smiled to her, and then he pulled her close once again and searched with his lips for her mouth. Hermione responded by stroking his head and for a moment he forgot everything around them. Then, with regret, he broke the kiss. "As much as I'd like to kiss you all night," he said, "we're expecting guests. The Weasleys are coming over and I'd be glad if you'd accompany me down. It would spare me to tell the entire story twice." 

"I'm really to become a cynic," Albus thought, looking down on Hermione walking next to him, her hand on his arm so that her finger just touched the inside of his wrist. He sighed – actually he didn't like all the lying and cunning and scheming he'd done over the last days.

Hermione's fingers stroked his hand lightly. "What you're sighing about?" she asked quietly.

In a whisper he gave back: "I've just discovered that I like mourning."

"Ah?" Hermione looked up to him and he saw a warning in her eyes. Obviously she didn't feel comfortable in talking with him as long as they were walking over the grave yard with Fudge and his wife only a few steps behind them. Ber fer fingers tugged now on his wand – so slightly even somebody standing in front of them wouldn't have noticed. And for making sure he really understood she lent a bit closer to him and said, just in the tone a grieving person was supposed to use: "My only comfort is we're so close in our minds and hearts, Albus." She pronounced the word "mind" a bit more than the rest of the sentence, but Albus actually wouldn't have needed her to do so.

He had already understood. Tugging at his voluminous black robe as if he would to plaid it, he pulled his wand out just so much he could direct it at his wife. His "legilimens" wasn't more than a toneless whisper; he even almost didn't move his lips by it.

Although Severus had trained Hermione in occlumency – the first step to become a legilimens – her mind was open to Albus. Nevertheless he didn't try to dig in it, but stayed carefully just on the edge of her being where he was welcomed with the warmth and brightness which was her. He heard her inner voice now. It said crisply: "I don't think you'd like mourning in general. But mourning for some one who's probably just chasing our house elves through the kitchen – I actually like that too. Especially when it gives you a reason to stay at home for the rest of the day."

"I shall enjoy it very much," he sent back. "It means I'm with you …"

"Actually I think I will help Molly a bit in cleaning the nursery," Hermione looked up at him and – thinking, that her silence would perhaps make Fudge and his wife suspicious, said with her normal voice: "Honestly, Albus – you look dreadful. And you're still limping." In her mind she added: "You didn't get more than five or six hours of sleep during the last two days. I think you should have a nap as soon as we're at home."

"You didn't get much sleep either," Albus sent back. He absolutely didn't mind what Fudge thought about his silence. Knowing the soon-to-be-a-former-minister as well as he did, he knew Fudge wouldn't notice the magic sparkling from 25 legilimens, singing a Christmas carol in their minds while gathering around him. So it was easy to send Hermione another thought. "You know, I sleep best with you in my arms …"

Hermione's face remained serious, but in her mind she laughed. "Am I your teddy bear?"

"Actually, no, rather not. I couldn't think of making love to a teddy bear. Even in being a Slytherin: My kinkiness has limits."

"Albus! I was talking of sleep!" Hermione thought at him, but he felt that she found the idea of an afternoon shag nice.

"So did I," Albus answered therefore. "Sleeping together would be a pleasant way to spend a rainy afternoon like this. Besides: My father always used to say 'who sleeps, doesn't sin. But who sins, sleeps bettfterfterwards."

"Frivolity seems to run in the family," Hermione laughed at him.

They had arrived at the gates of the grave yard now where already a huge crowd gathered. Albus sent a sigh at Hermione: "Now to the last act of this dark comedy …" Then he waved his hand, hidden in the folds of his robe, murmured a "finite incantatum" and cut the connection with her. Looking at the young Weasleys, standing around their father with Harry, holding Ginny's hand, he braced himself. Of course – except for Percy who stood a few steps away with his bride, all Weasleys know that their mother wasn't death, but Ginny was nevertheless in tears, Ron looked as if he were close to joining her in crying and Charlie looked worryingly from his pale father to Percy and then with an accusing gaze at Albus. The eldest Weasley had been fiercely against lying to Percy and Albus would have had managed to convince him. It had been Molly herself who'd spoken the final "no", explaining that she loved Percy as much as his siblings, but simply didn't trust him enough. Yet the sadness in her eyes and how she searched for Arthur's hand had Albus led to make a note inwardly: "Speaking to Percy as soon as possible." Although Percy was his least favourite Weasley – he would try to get him on their side and back in his family again.

Isadora Cracklebell suddenly was on Albus' side. Although she'd refrained from bringing her clipboarda fua funeral, she looked already all business again. "Sir, I've flooed the deputy major of Twinkletown and told him that you wouldn't feel up for holding a speech today. He asked me to exs his his understanding to you, sir. And Mistress Pearsfrols from the Council of St. Mungo's I've flooed also and she says she thought already you should stay with the Weasleys today and she'll send you an owl later, sir. So all appointments for today are cancelled. Only Mister Van Dirksen from the Wizard's Wireless Network was very unhappy about your refusal to give him an interview today. He asked me to ask you if you couldn't reconsider. He'd need you only for a few minutes."

"No." Albus shook his head. "I'll see him tomorrow at nine o' clock. Today I don't want to be disturbed."

"But, sir, Mister Van Dirksen says his audience …"

"No, Isadora," Albus interrupted his secretary. "I really mean it." Laying a hand on her shoulder, he smiled down at her. "Get yourself a little rest today, child. Tomorrow I'll need you at 7:30." He took Hermione's hand again. Excuse us, Isadora – my wife and I have to talk to the Weasleys." Walking over to them he embraced Arthur, whispering in his ear: "Do you want me to finihis?his?"

Arthur whispered back: "I'd be grateful. It's becoming a bit too much, especially for Ginny and Ron."

"Yes …" Albus let him go and turned around, stretching to his full length. "Dear friends and guests," he said loudly and waited then a few seconds until he was sure everybody was looking at him. "I think you can imagine how much of a shock Molly's departure was to her family. And as much as they all appreciate you coming here – I'm sure you'll understand that they need some time to themselves now. So I hope you'll excuse Arthur and his children now …"

A murmur of agreement came from the crowd. Only Fudge looked furious – probably he had thought it would have been his job to make a speech and so Albus didn't wonder when the minister approached him, hissing: "You seem to be very sure about taking over Sunday. But I'm still a quantity you should reckon with!"

Albus looked over Fudge's shoulder to Arthur. Charlie, Billy and his wife and the twins had already apparated. Arthur was now holding an old belt in his hand – the port key to the hall Albus had conjured earlier. He looked sadly over to Percy who stubbornly avoided his father's gaze. Finally Arthur sighed and asked: "Albus, shall we take Hermione with us?"

But she gave Ginny a last hug and stepped away. "Thank you, Arthur, but my baby likes travelling by port key even less then me. I'll come back with Albus."

Albus directed his eyes back at Fudge. Despite all the trouble the man had provided him with over the last years he felt a pang of pity to him. Fudge had dreamed all his life of becoming minister only to get kicked out of the office after a few years and by a rival who must look to him as if he would enjoy humiliating him. Yet Albus didn't. He still would have rather been headmaster of Hogwarts and he really didn't look forward to spending the last weeks of his life in the ministry.

Knowing that this was probably the last time he'd see Fudge as minister, Albus offered him his hand. "I'm sorry, Cornelius," he said. "I would have wished for another way."

Unfortunately Fudge proved once again that he wasn't only a lousy minister, but a bad loser also. He refused to take Albus' hand, but walked without a word over to Percy Weasley. So it was Hermione who took Albus' hand. "Let's go home," she said. "Minerva and Augustus have already gone too, so we'll be expected." 

Albus had always admired and liked Molly Weasley, but now, two hours after her fake funeral, he couldn't resist taking her in his arms and kissing her cheek. "Molly," he said after doing so, "if I weren't married already, I would give Arthur a run for his money. You're simply wonderful."

To his amusement Molly blushed, peeked his cheek and answered with a little giggle: "Old flatterer! Don't stay around here – off you go? Your wife needs rests and so do you – and I think Arthur and I will have a nap too. I'm supposed to be death – that should make for a little lay down on a rainy afternoon."

"If you say so …" Albus bowed. "Then I'll be a good boy and go to sleep. See you later then, Molly, Arthur!"

Hermione had already gone upstairs, now he followed her, still limping and feeling a bit exhausted. Arriving at the bedroom, he sat down on his bedside. For the first time in two days he wasn't in a hurry. "Fake deaths are almost as exhausting as real demises," Severus had said the other night as they had talked to the Weasleys. But at least convincing them had been much easier than Albus had believed before.

Especially Arthur had immediately seen a point he liked very muchthe the plan: A hidden Molly was a safe Molly. Arthur had always feared his family would become a target for Voldemort – they were member of the order, they were known as close friends of Albus and the surrogate family of Harry Potter. So Arthur Weasley, the decent Gryffindor who detested lying, had almost immediately agreed to acting like a heart-broken widower who – of course – couldn't live in his more or less ruined home anymore, but would take refuge under the roof of his friend Albus.

And Molly, always practical, hadn't made much words about the "why" either, but had gone over to discussing the "how". She'd come up in minutes with an idea for a disguise: "Your young wife is pregnant and inexperienced with having a baby, you're a rich man, Albus and a very busy one – so no one will wonder if you engage an experienced nanny already. She'll help Hermione with her shopping and making up the nursery, she'll keep her company when you're away. And I'm from Irish descent as you know. I have cousins over there who are midwifes. I'll go to Ireland for a day or two, buy myself a few typical Irish things and come back as Elaine Kennedy, your new nanny. I'm sure my cousin Elaine won't mind lending me a few hairs and her name."

The next morning Albus had gone to Hogwarts and had spoken not only with Minerva, but with Harry and the two Weasley children there. Then he'd asked his old friend Cracklebell to order Percy Weasley to him for the evening and to keep him in his home until he'd heard from Albus. After this he'd gone to meet the aurors and order members Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks for making sure, the aurors wouldn't come too son to the Burrows. The entire act wouldn't work if the wards wouldn't fall. Besides Albus had made sure that no auror would kill the death eater who would announce Molly's death.

Next Albus and Severus, disguised as muggles, had visited a butcher and boughtreshreshly slaughtered pig half. As less flattering at it seemed to Molly: The cell cturcture of pigs was pretty alike to human and so a body conjured from a pig would even work when a mediwitch or a healer came with the aurors.

At this part Molly Weasley had once again proven what a brave woman she was. With a crisp "One has to do these things rights!" she'd asked Hermione to help her and had Severus and Albus kicked out of the cellar where they had deposed the carcass. Telling them "You two don't have any idea about how I look like under my clothes and I really don't want to know what your imaginations would make up."

At this Severus had shown that living in freedom did him good. He'd smiled at Molly, saying: "Pity. You would have learned how attracted we are to you."

Albus knew that this hadn't been only nicety. Women were a point where Severus and he were in agreement. Both of them had a liking for "a lot of nice, round, soft equipment all around the lady" as Albus had said once and both weren't attracted by haughty, too slender types like Narcissa Malfoy from whom Severus once had said, she'd remind him of a compound: "In every corner a bone."

Albus felt a bit weary now and just asked himself if it really had been so good an ido pro promise Hermione something more then a nap. But she deserved more attention than she got from him and so he sighed and bent down to undo his black leather dragon boots. The right one was easy, but the left one still was a problem with the swollen knee over it and so Hermione, just coming out of the bathroom in only a long, blue shirt, found again reason to rant with him.

"Actually," she said, coming over to him and bending down on her knees, "it's amazing. You're known for having a brilliant mind, Albus Dumbledore, but obviously it isn't brilliant enough to get, that you don't have to prove yourself as the lonely hero twice a day. If you need help – and you do need help in the moment – you can ask me. I assure you: I won't tell, so your reputation stays untouched." She undid his left boot and his sock.

Albus looked down at her. "I think I don't like you on your knees in front of me," he said thoughtfully.

Hermione looked up, her honey brown eyes amused. "That's the reason why I don't mind. If you would expect me to serve you on my knees, you'd probably have to work on your imperio because you'd need a very strong one for bringing me down." Laying her hand on his knee, she wrinkled her forehead. "Black doesn't become you," she said then. "You're looking rather pale in it. And …" she opened the buttons of his black silken under robe, starting from the last one over his shin bone, "… you should see Madame Pomfrey soon. Your knee seems to get worse instead of better."

"No, it doesn't," Albus protested. He never liked seeing the mediwitch. "It only got a bit too much by the long walk over the grave yard."

"Let me have a look." Hermione was now on the buttons just over his knees. Opening them, she pushed the fabric away and laid her cool hand against his hot, swollen bone. Shaking her head, she said: "What you need is a generous amount of Severus' cooling gel. Just you wait – I'll get it …" She jumped on her feet and ran to the bathroom, calling over her shoulder: "Don't you move! Try to behave at least once like a sensible human being."

"Yes, mommy," Albus smiled. Though he really didn't like Poppy Pomfrey fussing over him, he enjoyed to be fussed over by Hermione. She was back now with the gel and a bandage. Kneeling down ag she she spread the blue gel over his knee and started to wrap the bandage around. Albus used his chance to catch a curl of her hair and playing with it. "You know, you've just waked the child in the man?" he asked. "I can't remember anyone – except my mother, of course – ever fussing over me."

Hermione looked for a moment up to him. "None of your lady friends?" she asked.

He shook his head. "They never got to see me when I wasn't fit."

"Oh, oh!" Hermione was finished with the bandage and smiled again to him. "My vain, proud Slytherin. You hate being vulnerable, don't you?"

"That depends …" Albus laid his hands arounr far face and tried gently to pull her up. "With you I rather like it …"

Hermione resisted his attempt to kiss her. Instead she bent her head again and opened another button of his robe. Kissing the skin she'd just exposed, she said: "I was wrong about the black, Albus. It makes a rather nice contrast to your skin."

Another button, another kiss, this time more on the inside of his tight – and suddenly his weariness were gone. Instead he felt the familiar prickle in his groin. "You know, what you're doing to me?" he asked.

Hermione laughed. "That's why I do it." Dexterously she unbuttoned his robe up to the belt, grinned at him cheekily and said: "The rest is for you to do. Tiny buttons are your department. I need my hands for bigger things …" And with that she took his already heavy member in her hand and blew a kiss on the tip.

"Uuuh …" Albus actually didn't want opening buttons and his belt. He wanted to concentrate entirely on her stroking and fondling. So he pulled his wand out and murmured an undressing spell.

Hermione lookedand and giggled her warm breath like a soft touch on his sensitive skin. "Spoilsport!"

"Oh, Darling …" He waved his wand again, this time directed at her. Her shirt vanished and her hair floated freely over her creamy shoulders. Laying his wand and his spectacles on the nightstand, he caught again one of her curls, wrapped it around his finger and kissed it. "My Hermione …" he whispered, closing his eyes and concentrating entirel the the feeling her warm, tender lips gave him.

And once again he wondered at how much and how quickly she was able to arouse him. He'd had more experienced lovers who'd performed with more finesse, but it had never meant so much to him as it meant with Hermione. In former times it had been "sex" – fun and pleasure, satisfaction for the body. But with Hermione it was much more. She didn't only satisfy his body, but his heart and soul too. She had become the love of his life and he knew: If he'd get the chance to die in her arms, he'd go feeling happy and content.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: The expected unexpected letter

"Mister Granger! Hi, Dicky!" The voice of the old man made the blond boy turn around on the stair he'd just entered after calling his usual, friendly, but quick "Hi, Jimmy" to the porter's lounge. But now Jimmy waved with a big, creamy envelope. "You've got mail, Dicky! A guy came in, bringing this for you one hour ago …"

"Dicky" took the envelope and by looking at the elegant, dark green handwriting on it his face became serious. His lips moved as he read the address: "Richard Granger, Esq., Hotel Solitude, Three Oaks Street 911, USA, New Orleans". Slowly the boy turned the envelope around and looked on the backside as if he couldn't believe what he saw there.

"Bad news, Dicky?" the old porter asked, smiling friendly.

The young man still starred at the two letters on the backside of the envelope. "S.S." – no more, no less. But to him the two green letters looked like curling snakes and he felt a cold shiver running down his spine.

"Dicky? Are you okay?" the porter asked again.

"Sorry, Jimmy." The boy tried a smile. "The letter's a bit of a surprise." Stepping up the stairs, he called over his shoulder: "But don't worry – I'm fine …"

A minute later the boy entered a comfortable room on the second floor of the hotel. Laying the envelope cautiously on the paper laden desk in front of a window, he went to the little bathroom. Although it was December 3, he found the weather in New Orleans very warm and felt always rather sticky when he came back from the university to the room he'd rented.

Looking into the mirror he splashed cold water in his face. Even now, after almost three months, he wasn't used to the blue eyes and the silken blond hair he saw in the mirror. For 18 years it had been green eyes and unruly, black hair and although he'd often wished it more manageable, he now wished the dark strands back.

Yet it had been his idea to become another person and at the time he'd asked for it he'd thought of it as his chance to become free finally. He remembered the beautiful room he'd paced through and how he'd said: "I know I disappoint you, probably you'll find me even ungrateful, but I want to go away when this is finally over. I will help to fulfil your plan, but under one condition: You'll help me to get a new life afterwards. I will have a new identity, another face and at least for some time freedom."

If Albus Dumbledore had felt disappointed, he'd probably learn from the letter on his desk. But at this summer day in his study he hadn't shown it. He'd only said: "I understand, Harry". The way in which he'd developed the plan for Harry getting his freedom had made Harry wonder – had the old man already expected him to ask for it? He hadn't asked – he hadn't wanted to know. He simply had been glad for a few days later an owl had approached him. The mail it had given him had been very short: "You'll find everything you need at vault 7842 at Gringotts. The password is 'exit'. Good luck. A.D." Attached to it was a little, golden key.

Harry had burned the letter and hung the key on an enchanted chain around his neck. He'd spoken with no one about it, not even with the old man. Yet he'd often laid his fingers on the key. In the last weeks before he used it he often felt as if the key would belong to another reality. The reality he'd lived in for this summer – an exceptionally bright one – hadn't suited what the key stood for. He'd never before found Hogwarts and with it the entire magical world so calm and peaceful. For six long and blissful weeks he'd never felt the slightest burn in his scar. If not for Hermione becoming paler and quieter every time he saw her Harry really could have believed that he'd only have to worry about his NEWTs. And while his school mates had celebrated the fall of the marriage law and discussed the constitution Dumbledore as the new minister of magic had in only a few days boxed over all hurdles – he'd obviously had worked on it years before and even prepared the members of the Wizengamot to support it – Harry had waited.

It had almost been a relief then he'd been awakened in the night on August 10, with a burning, stabbing pain in his forehead. He had run to Minerva McGonagall, but he wouldn't have needed Dumbledore coming to Hogwarts only a few hours later, not twinkling and sucking lemon drops, but only saying: "Tomorrow at midnight he'll attack …"

And then the last day at Hogwarts: The school had been evacuated in the morning at 11:00 h. The Hogwarts express, guarded by an entire army of aurors, some of them in the train, others flying on broomstick over it, had left, only a few seventh years who were already members of the order and a few teachers had remained. And there had been Severus Snape. He'd suddenly appeared in the great hall as if he'd never left Hogwarts, but on second sight Harry had seen that Snape in the weeks he'd lived hidden had changed. He'd gained a bit of weight, he'd even got a bit of a tan and his characteristic sneer had made place for a worried expression.

Later Harry had wondered why he'd felt bored in the afternoon which followed the departure of the train. He stood with Hermione – she'd come in the morning with Snape and had refused to leave again – and Ron in the windows in the headmaster's drawing room. Outside Snape, tiny Professor Flitwick and McGonagall had checked the inner wards guarding the castle while aurors, commanded by Alastor Moody who looked almost happy had worked on the outer wards.

At teatime Dumbledore had appeared and for aent ent Harry almost hadn't recognized him – and not only because Dumbledore who Harry had never seen in something other than robes, had worn muggle shorts and a blue shirt, but because he'd shaved and cut his mane. But even without the silver halo around his head he looked imposing – perhaps even more, because his changed appearance said clearly that he was ready for combat.

But no one had said a word about it. Ron had only swallowed and Harry had watched Hermione who stood with erect back, her hands protecting over her now pretty swollen belly, but with a soft smile in her face looking up at her husband. And Dumbledore, sounding as casual as on a normal afternoon, had asked her for "a little stroll to the lake."

Harry had always admired his friend's courage, but as she'd taken her husband's hand this afternoon, he'd almost fallen on his knees in front of her. And later then he'd seen the couple – they'd stood for a long time at the lake, Hermione in front of Albus, his arms around her middle, his hands on her belly. Although Harry hadn't seen their faces the the distance, he'd been sure that Hermione hadn't cried. But Ron had – banging both his fists against the windows, he'd suddenly shout: "If you or he doesn't kill this monster, I'll do it with my bare hands!"

Harry had simply taken his friend in his arms and on his shoulder Ron had cried. "Look at Hermione! She loves him and her heart will break this night …"

Harry didn't think so. He knew as well as Ron, perhaps even better, how much Hermione loved her husband. But he also knew that she wouldn't allow her heart to break. She was expecting a child – and for this child she'd remain strong.

As the night had fallen over Hogwarts, they'd sat in the hall for dinner – and though Harry had found the situation highly bizarre because it looked so "normally", he'd understood why Dumbledore had invited all inhabitants of the castle to this dinner. It was his way of telling them, that they would fight for "normality" – for a world in which they could live without the dark shadow over their heads.

Suddenly there had been a big uproar with aurors shouting stunning spells and Snape doing a jump over the table and throwing Hermione on the floor and protecting her with his body. The reason for all this excitement had stood in the middle of the hall, untouched by all the spells directed at him, smiling a cool smile and – after Albus had roared "Out! It's a friend!" – Saying: "Really, Dumbledore – we gave you a warmer welcome."

The man who had obviously made it through all the wards without even one of his perfect combed black hairs falling out of form, had looked like a film star: Tall, slender, a perfect handsome face with dark, black eyes and dressed in a grey muggle suit with a pristine white silken shirt. He'd radiated wealth, elegance and so much power Harry had found it frightening.

Dumbledore had walked through the hall to greet the man and after shaking his hand he'd announced: "May I introduce you to Conte Louis Alexandre de Beauregard? He's …"

Harry was sure: Dumbledore had intended to say something like "a friend". But the Conte had taken over. "… What most of you would call a 'vampire' …" he'd finished Dumbledore's line. "I'm the chosen leader of our community. And we've decided to become your allies. We were for a long time thinking and talking about association with you and your new minister's constitution finally convinced us."

The Conte hadn't come alone. With a wave of his hand he'd made a group of 20 fellow vampires appear – all exceptionally beautiful, well dressed and, as Harry later had learned, very powerful. They had probably – as Ron had said later – "saved our sorry arses" as an entire herd of dementors had broken through the outer wards. The wizard's patronuses had kept tat bat bay, but destroyed they'd become by the vampires ancient magic.

Without that the victory wouldn't have been possible. The death eaters had quickly learned that they weren't fighting for power, but for their lives and so the battle had been long and hard and brutal. But from all the images of this night, burned in Harry's memory – Flitwick already fallen, but raising his wand and stopping a death eater who'd tried to curse Minerva McGonagall; Snape, all the night a dark shadow behind Dumbledore, killing almost nonchalantly Bellatrix Lestrange; Hagrid using a death eater he kept on one leg as a weapon to beat another one down; Ron, who'd already stunned three enemies, being caught in the last moment before the green light of a killing curse could hit him by Rolanda Hooch, who'd shot out of the sky on her broomstick and at last Dumbledore, surrounded by an aura of pure, white light, raising his wand and killing Voldemort before the rock the dark lord had thrown against him, made him fall – the one Harry knew he'd never forget was the picture of Hermione, sitting on the battlefield, Dumbledore's head in her lap, stroking a white, short strand out of his forehead and smiling down on her beloved with a tenderness which almost made Harry's heart break. He'd thought she'd gone insane, thenthen, stomping closer, he'd seen Snape, falling on his knees next to her and saying with a gentleness Harry wouldn't have believed him able to: "You've done it, Albus. Now you may rest …"

It was then that Harry had finally got it: Voldemort was destroyed – and this time forever. His death eaters were on the run, the aurors following them. Hogwarts and the magical world were safe, the war was over and he, Harry Potter, hadn't become a killer. Albus Dumbledore had given his life to save Harry.

Harry had broken down next to the body of the old wizard who had been his mentor and the next thing he'd ever had to a grandfather. But as he's tried to hug him, Snape had kept him back with a death grip: "Don't! His spine is broken! You'd kill him if you move him."

"He lives?" Harry hadn't believed it.

Snape had looked at him, his black eyes groundless poles. "His magic is gone and he's heavily injured. He probably won't survive the transport to the castle."

Snape had been wrong – not about the magic and not about the broken spine, but about Dumbledore surviving. He'd survived not only the transport back to the Hogwarts' hospital wing, but three days later another one to his mansion. And while the magical world had celebrated the victory and Arthur Weasley as Dumbledore's successor in the office as minister of magic, Harry had received a note from Snape: "Dumbledore wants to see you. The floo in the hall is open. S.S."

Only one hour later Harry had tumbled out of the fireplace in Dumbledore Hall. Hermione had greeted him – pale and very distant – and led him up to a beautiful bedroom where he'd found the old man in his bed with Snape in a chair at his side. Dumbledore had looked like death and for a moment Harry had thought he'd come too late. But then Snape had rose and waved him to step closer. "He's just asleep, but it won't last long. Seat down and wait until he wakes up again."

"Is he …?" Harry didn't know how to ask.

"Dying?" Snape had raised an eyebrow. "Not today. Don't worry, Mister Potter – he will, as always, spare you. He probably will even show his famous twinkle. But I warn you nevertheless: One wrong word and I'll kill you – slowly and painfully. You've hurt him enough – now let him have his peace. And ...," the potion master's voice hadn't been more than a whisper, but it had sounded more forbidden than if he'd shouted at the top of his lungs, "… perhaps you will try at least once to think of him instead of yourself."

Harry wasn't convinced he'd managed this in the way the potion master had expected. Dumbledore had not given him much of a chance for it. His first words after waking up had been: "Still here, Harry? Why?"

"I thought …" Harry had stammered, "I mean … Hermione and you … and this situation …"

Dumbledore had chuckled – a weak sound, but nevertheless a chuckle. "I'm dying, Harry – and this is something no one can help me with. Hermione has Severus and the Weasleys at her side …"

"You want me to go, sir?"

"Harry, I want you to become the man you're supposed to be …" Harry had needed to bend down over the bed, because the old man's voice was no more then a hoarse whisper. "A strong wizard, a loving husband, a friend to his friends, a good father and hopefully a good godfather to my child," he said and although his face had been as white as the pillow he was lying on, his blue eyes had sparkled. "But I think you need some time to think and to rest now …"

And so Harry was gone. He'd said farewell to Ginny who'd understood and had promised him to wait. He'd hugged Hermione who'd been very quiet and he'd told Ron who hadn't been too pleased. Afterwards he'd gone to Gringotts and in the vault he'd found a passport with the name "Richard Granger" and with the picture of a blond boy; two vial; a muggle credit card and two letters. The first one told him that the potion in the first vial would change his appearance suiting the picture while the second would make him Harry again. The other letter was addressed to the director of the magical university in New Orleans, recommending Richard Granger – "a cousin of my wife" – as a student.

So Harry had left the wizard's district, had taken the potion in a dark corner and then used the credit card to buy a ticket to New Orleans. There he'd found himself the little hotel and after a few days simply strolling through the streets, he'd decided to attend the university, but not moving in there. He simply didn't want to become involved with too much socializing – he preferred the freedom and the peace he'd found by being a stranger in the muggle world.

From England he hadn't heard much. Sometimes in the university's library he would have a look at the "Daily Prophet" and once, by reading it, he probably amazed other students because the picture of sneering Snape with the headline "A hero is back to life" had been too funny and had made him laugh out loud. But more he hadn't heard.

Yet he thought he'd know what the letter meant. He'd immediately recognized the handwriting – he'd seen it often enough under one of his potion essays. And knowing, that Snape never would like him, Harry only wondered why the letter was so heavy. The line "Dumbledore died at …" didn't need such a lot of parchment. So what else could Snape have written him?

The only way to find out would be reading and so Harry went back to the desk, opened the envelope and looked flabbergasted to the long roll of parchment which fell out. Rolling it up, he saw it was covered with Snape's elegant, but tiny handwriting – the potion master had sent the longest letter Harry had ever got.

Yet at least he stood true to form – he'd started without an address.

"Dumbledore Hall, November 7, 2006

Albus had asked me to write this letter and because it's probably the last thing I can do for him I'll try to do it the way he wants it in giving you a full record of what happened after your departure.

As you probably have learned before you went: Arthur Weasley became – as Albus planned it – Albus' successor as minister of magic. One of his first actions was to set up a date for a new election on September 10. To not only ours, but probably the amusement of most British witches and wizards too, Cornelius Fudge used this once-for-a-lifetime opportunity to make an even bigger fool out of himself as he already was known for. He claimed to get the office back with maintaining that Albus had tricked the last election and that neither he nor Arthur who'd lied about Mrs Weasley's and my death were trustworthy. It was probably the most stupid thing he'd ever done in his entire history of doing stupidity because Albus' star shines brighter than ever before. 'The wizard who'd saved our world twice', 'the heir of Merlin' – I'm quoting newspapers which can't find praise enough for our former headmaster – is a legend by now and even the tiniest critic on something he'd done leads the mob to becoming murderous.

So Weasley's election as the new minister was even more convincing than Albus' a few months before. Although I was never as convinced about Arthur Weasley's qualities as a leader as Albus, I'm now to admit that he does well in the office. He proceeds on Albus' way of democratizing our world, he proceeds in the integration of other magical beings and he's by now even in a good way to make the ministry work efficient.

One of his biggest assets in my opinion was that he asked the Conte Beauregard and his people to help with getting rid of the dementors. As you perhaps know, they were artificial creatures, breaded with rather dark magic to do duty in Azkaban. Now they're gone and Azkaban is under the supervision of aurors.

By talking about Azkaban: In the moment the prison is rather full with captured death eaters, but Lucius Malfoy is not one of them, although he isn't redeemed entirely yet. He's still under supervision of the ministry and he paid a large amount of money for an institution which will take care of Voldemort's surviving victims.

In Hogwarts – to go on with what will probably interest you – not much had changed. Minerva McGonagall is still Headmistress with Professor Sinistra as her deputy. Bill Weasley became successor of Professor Flitwick, an Italian named Gianni Cerleto is the potion professor and your friend Remus Lupin was again installed for the position of a Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. Under given circumstances it is to be hoped that he'll stay for the next 50 years which will probably please the new transfiguration professor Nymphadora Tonks who's supposed to become Madame Lupin soon.

Molly Weasley meanwhile is hoping for another wedding. Her son Percy – still working in the ministry, but by now quieter and less pompous – will marry his new found love Isadora Cracklebell and probably provide the wizard's world with a lot of new Weasleys soon.

The rest of the Weasley family is back at the Burrow, but I'm glad to say that Molly Weasley nevertheless comes almost every day to the Hall in helping Hermione who actually should give birth to her child in the next two or three days. Considering that and the fact that Albus is close to his end, she's in good health and shows admirable bravery.

Now we're on the part I'd rather avoid writing, so I'll make it as short as possible. Albus is still with us – very weak, mostly sleeping, but he's alive and his mind is still as clear and sharp as ever. According to the healers and himself, he doesn't suffer pain, but his demise is inevitable. Since two weeks ago he isn't able to digest more than a little soup and so it's only his willpower and my potions which keep him alive. He's got only one wish left: He wants to see his child.

So we wait for one life to begin and another one …"

In this place the ink was smudged as if something wet would have hit the parchment. But above Harry saw another few lines:

November 9, in the morning

I couldn't finish the letter because Molly asked me to sit with Albus during the night. At 2:30 h in the morning of November 8, Hermione gave birth to a son. Mother and child are well although the baby – as Molly asked me to tell you – is "a huge and splendid boy who didn't make it easy for his mother".

This morning I helped Hermione to the master bedroom where Albus and she named their son Leontes Beatus Dumbledore. Following Hermione's and Albus' expressed wish Leontes Beatus got Virginia Weasley as his godmother. You are supposed to be his godfather. So we asked Arthur to left the entry in the registry open.

13 hours after the name giving, at 11:45 h in the night, Hermione discovered that Albus wasn't breathing anymore. His death was as peaceful as we had wished for him. He passed away without any pain and with Hermione holding him in her arms.

He wished to be buried next to his parents here at the Hall. The funeral will be on November 11, at 2:00 p.m.

For getting here quickly, Arthur Weasley gave permission to ect ect our floo to the fireplace of your university's potion master Professor Haffkins. The connection will be open for the next 24 hours and it will allow one person to come through.

Yours sincerely  
S. Snape"

Harry felt a tear running down his cheek. He'd know that Albus Dumbledore would die; of course he'd know it. He actually even had expected he would die sooner. But nevertheless he couldn't imagine the world without the great wizard and he meant to hear the old man's husky voice as he'd said in their last conversation: "I've made a lot of mistakes in our relationship, but I want you to know that I've always loved you."

Harry was grateful now that he'd found the courage to bend down to the old wizard to kiss his forehead and to say: "I know and I love you too."

It had led to an almost boyish smile on the pale face. "Now you can talk aboutlythlytherin becoming sentimental, Harry …"

Now the "sentimental Slytherin" was dead. The man who had the biggest influence on Harry's life, the wizard he'd loved, admired and sometimes fought rry rry would never look in his clear blue eyes again, he would never hear his chuckle again.

Harry breathed deeply. Then he rolled the parchment together, looked around and marched to the closet. Taking a bag out, he started packing – his clothes, his books, the picture from Ginny, the album with the photographs of his parents. In only five minutes he was ready, he only needed two things more and so he opened the drawer of his night stand. There he found the little vial and his glasses. Tucking both in the pocket of his jeans, he took the bag and walked down the stairs to Jimmy, who snored behind a newspaper.

"Jimmy – I've got bad news from home," he said. "I have to go back immediately. An old friend has died. Can I have the bill?"

"Oh, I'm sorry about your friend," the porter turned around to the computer in a corner of his lounge. "I'll get you the bill. Shall I call you a cab?"

"That would be nice," Harry answered.

A few minutes later he climbed out of the taxi in front of an old house. A withered sign on the door said that this was the home of some one called "Haffkins", so Harry knocked and heard almost immediately a friendly voice from inside:" Just come in! It's open!" A man, who looked as muggle as can go, greeted him as he entered the hall. "Hi – I'm Doug Haffkins and you're …" he seemed to hesitate, but then he proceeded, "the guy my English colleague Severus Snape asked me to send through the floo?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. "I'd be most grateful if you'd allow me to use your fireplace."

"Huh!" said the young American. "You Brits are really great in being stuffy. Just come up to my study – my wife's muggle, therefore we don't have floos all over the place." By leading Harry up the stairs, he said: "I'm sorry about Dumbledore. Sev told me and he said you were kind of a 'friend of the family'. I've read all the stuff about this war – heaven's I wouldn't have wanted to be there. Were you?"

They'd arrived in the study – a mixture between a potion lab and sitting room with tons of books and magazines spread around. Harry breathed deeply, and then he took the little vial out of his pocket. "Sir …" he started.

"Heavens, boy, I'm Doug!" the American potion master interrupted.

"Okay, Doug." Harry tried a little smile. "You've asked me if I were in the war. Yes, I was. I don't know what Professor Snape told you about me, but …," he hesitated. He knew he wouldn't like to tell the entire story, but where to start for a short version? He decided for the super quick version. "I'm under a disguise potion from Professor Snape. If you don't mind – I'd like to change back to my true form before I'll go back."

"Disguise potion? That sounds interesting. Invention by Sev?" asked the American.

Harry opened the vial and drank the bitter content with one gulp. He felt immediately how he became a bit smaller and how his sight became blurry. Putting his glasses up, he smiled at Doug. "I think it's an invention by Professor Snape."

"Wow!" The American looked at him out of big eyes. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Obviously his "fame" had made it to America. Harry sighed – he would have to become use with people starring at him again. "Yes, I am …" he answered therefore a bit cold.

"Pity we didn't meet earlier! But I don't think you want to hang around all day here, chatting with me." Pointing with his chin to a small fireplace in the wall, Doug said: "There's the floo, floo powder is on the blue bowl on the mantelpiece. Just serve yourself – and tell Sev he should publish about this disguise potion. Sounds damn interesting …"

Harry was sure: If he didn't go, the friendly man wouldn't stop chatting. So he took a handful of floo powder, interrupted the still talking American with a firm: "Sorry, Doug, but I have to go. Thanks for your help!" threw the floo powder into the flames and stepped in, calling: "Dumbledore Hall."

The spinning went on for almost five minutes and Harry feared already something had got wrong as he suddenly fell out of the fire, finding himself once again on a beautiful rose and blue carpet. Directly in front of him was a pair of polished black boots and as he looked up at them, he heard a familiar, cold voice: "Good morning, Mister Potter."

Harry, still feeling a bit dizzy, rose up and brushed the sot from his clothes. Pushing his glasses back on their right place he looked at Professor Severus Snape who sat on the sofa in front of the fire place, a book in his hand. "Good morning, Professor Snape," he said, feeling a bit disappointed. Snape's letter had sounded rather civil and so Harry had actually hoped to get a warmer welcome than this stare out of unreadable onyx eyes. Swallowing he asked: "How's Hermione?"

Snape closed for a moment his eyes. "She sleeps," he answered then curtly. Rising up, he ringed a little bell on the mantelpiece. "You didn't have dinner, I take it?"

"I came immediately after I've got your letter," Harry answered. "Thank you for informing me."

Snape didn't answer, but looked at the house elf – a bony thing with swollen, red eyes – that'd just appeared. "Elli, could you serve Mister Potter a fendwindwiches? He comes directly from America and hasn't had dinner. Afterwards it would be nice if you'd get his luggage up to the red guest room."

Harry looked around the room. It was an octagon with four windows on one side and four windows on the other side. Between the walls were white shelves with hundred of books. The ceiling above was decorated with white and golden mouldings and a beautiful fresco. On the side with the windows stood a desk, almost too delicate for all the parchment spread over it.

Snape saw Harry's looking around to understand. His voice sounded very cold as he said: "This was Albus' study, but Hermione asked me to use it because it's got the public floo."

Harry swallowed. He'd felt that this beautiful, bright room had belonged to the headmaster and to think – no, he wouldn't cry in front of Snape. Instead he asked quietly: "May I see him?"

"If you want to …" Snape's voice was still cold. "The body's down in the drawing room. Augustus McGonagall, Arthur Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin are keeping wake." Bracing his shoulders he proceeded: "I don't think you need me here. I'd like to go down again. If you want to join after your meal – it's the first door on the left in the hall."

The open tomb stood on a bench, covered with blue silk and surrounded by candles. Arthur who'd silently hugged Harry as he'd entered the room, led him closer to it, his arm around Harry's shoulder. "Don't be afraid, Harry – he was at peace," he whispered.

Nevertheless Harry had to fight against tears so much he was for a moment almost blinded by them. But then he looked down at the tomb and into the small face of the man who'd saved his life.

The dead Albus Dumbledore looked as if he was asleep and dreaming a wonderful dream. His face was not only peaceful, but happy with his lips slightly smiling. He wore a creamy white shirt which made him look almost ethereal and his hands – long and white – lay on his chest, a dark red rose between them.

Harry had feared he'd start crying, but looking at this quiet face was like a comfort and Harry suddenly remembered how Dumbledore had told him once that death wasn't something to fear, but "the last challenge". So Harry bent down and kissed the cold forehead, whispering: "Where ever you are – you'll master this challenge with grace too. Thank you for all you've done for me." 

To see Hermione again Harry had almost feared most. He couldn't imagine how she felt, he couldn't think what to say and how to comfort her and he actually even wasn't sure if she would want to see him. He hadn't been there for her, he'd ran away in a time she probably would have needed every one of her friends and now – no, he wouldn't, couldn't blame her if she'd quit their friendship and so his heart sped up as a house elf knocked on the door of the guestroom where he'd just showered after spending the last hours down in the drawing room, sitting silently on a sofa with Ginny at his side.

"Mister Potter …" The house elf had red cried eyes too and its ears hung down. "Madame asks if you'd like to come to see the young master."

"Of course. I will dress and then I'll go. Where will I find yoistristress?" Harry asked.

"Mistress and young master are in the master bedroom – just one floor down, the second door on the left."

Although Ginny had already told him in their short, whispered conversation that Hermione was "incredibly brave", Harry wasn't prepared to see her smile at him as he shyly approached. She wore blue pants and a blue shirt and had a tiny bundle, wrapped in a light blue fluffy blanket in her arms.

"Hello, Hermione," Harry managed to say.

"Hello, Harry." She really smiled – not as bright as he knew she could, but friendly and warm. "It's good you're back." With one arm she hugged him, and then she looked down on her baby. "May I introduce you? Leon, that's your godfather Harry Potter. And this, Harry, is Leontes Beatus Dumbledore. And you're lucky: He's just fed, dry and in a good mood. He may even refrain from showing you his lung's capacity if you take him." And with that she put the baby in his arms.

Harry stood for a moment motionless and without daring to breathe. He'd never held a baby before and this one seemed to be extremely tiny and breakable. Besides he didn't see much of it because the blanket was half covering its face. Only a few silken, dark hairs looked out. But then suddenly a tiny hand found Harry's finger and closed around it. Harry looked down at it in wonder and said: "Oh my – he's tiny!"

"He is not!" Hermione sounded almost insulted. Tenderly tugging the blanket out of the infant's face, she said:" Molly she'she's even bigger than Charlie was – and Charlie was her biggest baby."

Harry got to see the baby's face now. To him it actually looked like all babies, but then the child opened its eyes – and Harry had to swallow. He'd thought he'd never see these eyes again. "He looks like …" He fell silent, not sure if it would be good to mention Leontes' father.

"He's got Albus' eyes." Hermione obviously didn't mind. "And look at his forehead and his mouth and this long, energetic chin. He's Albus all over. He's even inherited Albus' hands and feet. And …" she tipped tenderly against the baby's nose, "I wonder if this sweet tiny nose would once become rather big and crooked. I really don't know where my part on him is, but Severus says he'll probably show when he starts talking and drive mad mad with a million questions."

Harry still didn't know what he was supposed to do with the infant. Awkwardly he said: "I don't know much about babies, but this little fellow looks rather cute …"

"I think he'll look ever cuter when he's asleep – he's already becoming a bit fussy." Hermione took the baby out of Harry's arm and put it down in the cradle which stood next to the bed.

By looking down at the cradle Harry's gaze glided over to the night stand – and then he had to swallow again: On the little table laid a wand – a white wand, a wand Harry remembered only too well – and next to it Albus' golden half-moon spectacles.

Hermione had noticed his gaze. Stroking over her son's head, she said quietly: "I know he's death, Harry. And I promised him our son wouldn't grow up in a museum surrounded by sad memories. But at the moment I can't give his wand and his spectacles away. I simply can'tow sow she was crying and taking the spectacles in her hand, she said: "I used to tease him – I kissed him and blow against his glasses. They got steamed up and he took them down, saying: 'Pity – I actually like to see your face. It's worth looking at …"

Harry sat down next to her and laid his arm around her shoulder. "Hermione, I'm so sorry …"

Sinking on his chest, she sobbed: "I know I have to live without him, Harry. And I will manage – I promised him I would. But at the moment I feel so lost. I loved him so much and he was – oh Harry! I wish you'd have known him better."

"ew hew him well enough to know he was a great man," Harry said, feeling tears running down his cheeks too. "And I know that you made him a happy man, Hermione. He loved you very much. And Snapote ote me, he'd probably only survived so long because he wanted to see his child."

"Yes, he did." Hermione pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose.

"Was it haver ver the last months?" Harry asked quietly.

Hermione shook her head. "No, Harry, it was not," she said almost dreamily. "People kept asking – and it drove me almost mad because – Harry, these last three months weren't bad. They were …" She swallowed and put the handkerchief back in her pocket. "Perhaps it sounds odd, but we were happy. He didn't suffer any pain. Even his rheumatic didn't hurt him anymore because with his broken spine he couldn't feel his legs. Sometimes he said he missed his magic, but it was only when one of us had been too long with him and he got the feeling that he demanded too much. We learned that soon and changed not only our schedule, but became more attentive with him. We tried to get the things he'd need in his reach – it wasn't difficult because he didn't need much. He slept a lot; he liked to hear music and could do so for hours. He liked when Severus or I read to him – mostly poetry. And we talked …." She started to sob again. "That what I'll miss most – lying in his arm, talking with him …"

"I should have been there …" Harry felt miserable.

"Nonsense," Hermione said crisply. "Severus complained already about the house being more crowded than Hogsmeade on a free weekend. Molly was here every day for a few hours, Minerva came over every second day – Albus already teased her that she worked her deputy even harder than he did. On the weekends Ginny always came and Tonks rarely let a week go without coming here twice. Remus often sat with Albus and Moody came every morning to read the newspaper to him. You know, sometimes – as grateful I was for the help and as much as I knew that Albus enjoyed it – I was even glad when Severus and I were alone with him. And Severus was kind of jealous on certain things. He never allowed some one to wash or bath Albus – it was his task and even I wasn't allowed to help. He was the only one who carried Albus in the garden when the weather was good enough. And in the last weeks as Albus mostly didn't want to eat anymore, it was Severus who persuaded him with indefinite patience. He even brewed lemon drop juice for him …"

"He really loved him …" Harry said.

"Yes, Harry, he did. I knew you never liked him. But Albus loved him back and I don't know what I would have done without him," Hermione swallowed again. "Will you do me a favour, Harry?" she asked then.

"Whatever I can do." Harry promised.

"Be nice to Severus. He can't show it, but he's even more heartbroken than I am. I have Leontes and I have friends, but Severus feels absolutely alone now. Albus was the only person he ever felt accepted and loved by. Severus really doesn't know how to live without him."

"He's got the best friend one can get," said Harry. "He got you."

"I hope it will help him," Hermione said, "and what probably will help him too is work – Albus persuaded him to go back to teaching."

"Uuuh …" Harry said. "I mean – I thought…" he really didn't want to say anything against Snape, but truth was truth. "He never liked teaching much, didn't he?"

"He didn't like teaching ignorant dunderheads who thought potions are something best bought in an apothecary," Hermione said. "But he won't have to teach such students anymore. He's going to become a potion professor at Oxford. There he'll get the elite of potion students and hopefully at least the appreciation he deserves. Johannes – you remember Albus' cousin? – Says he always thought that Severus at Hogwarts was a waste – despite the fact that Hogwarts is the most renowned wizard's school in Europe. But Severus is the last apprentice of Nicolas Flamel and is supposed to become even greater than his former master."

"I know he's brilliant," Harry said. "Even as one of the ignorant dunderheads who'd like to buy all potions he ever needs in an apothecary, I've got that Snape is a great potion master. But what will you do now? Staying here with the baby?"

"No." Hermione shook her head. "Albus was already not too happy about the time I was here without doing something useful. So I'll go to Oxford too. I'll become Severus' student again. Besides I'll get a degree in transfiguration and I'll work on legimency."

"And your son?" Harry wanted to know.

Hermione smiled to the cradle where the baby slept. "He'll probably become a bit spoiled. I actually wanted to take him and Woopy with me to Oxford, but Molly became very strict. I'll have to apparate with Leon to the Burrow before I go to the university – she'll keep him. And considering how entirely over the moon she and Arthur and Ginny are with Leon, I'm afraid he'll grow an ego there bigger than even his Slytherin father had one." Looking back at Harry she asked: "And what's with you? Will you stay in England?"

Harry nodded and even managed a smile. "Yes, I think so. ve ave a godson to look after, haven't I?"

"So you'll attend the Auror's academy too? Ron's already there and Moody will be happy to see you there," Hermione said.

"No." Harry shook his head. "I've got enough fighting and destruction for the rest of my life. In America I had time to think about my future – and my past. It was your husband who prevented me from killing. I think I should live up to that. So it's …" he smiled a bit awkwardly, "… potions again, perhaps even potions with Professor Snape because I'll need a degree in potions to become a med wizard."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Just for the fun of it?

The three years since the war's end had been nice to Severus Snape. He'd gained a little weight, he'd got a little tan during a long and lazy summer holiday and he felt at ease with the world and himself as he strolled on a nice, still sunny October Saturday morning through the wizard district of Oxford. It was just seven in the morning, even the usual very crowded yard of the Merlin Wizard's College – short MWC – had been peacefully quiet and deserted from the students normally always loitering there. Even quieter was the park Severus crossed on his way to the little street he was now walking along. Most of its houses stood in nice gardens, over the days mostly filled with the cheerful noise of children playing there.

Severus knew most of the inhabitants of this street. Just over there, the big yellow house with the sunflowers in the garden, belong to Terry Hooper, MWC's second potion professor, who was a specialist for medical potion and therefore mostly teaching the med wizard classes. His wife Susanna, one of the herbologists in the college, a very nice and hospitable woman who hardly let a week go over without inviting Severus to dinner. At first he'd always refused her with saying he wouldn't have time, but Susanna Hooper was not only nice, but most persistent and so Severus was finally going to see her and her husband. By that he learned that he enjoyed their company and so the Hoopers were by now almost something Severus could call "friends" – but he was still very careful with that word.

He even didn't use it in connection with the Wulfs, the family who lived opposite the Hoopers, though Desmond Wulf, Decan of the MWC, was a man Severus liked and felt liked by.

The only inhabitant of the street and member of the college and probably even the only member of the wizard's world who Severus called without hesitation a "friend" was the only student living in the little street: Hermione Granger-Dumbledore. Just two years before – after she'd for months apparated daily between the university and Dumbledore Hall – she'd bought the house just at the end of the street, a nice, two floor home which she shared now with her son, her girlfriend Ginny Weaslnd tnd the house elf Woopy.

But most weekends Hermione and her son still spend at the Hall and it went almost without saying that Severus mostly accompanied the both. The arrangement were mostly made short in the college's hall or where ever the both gate crashed each other and it didn't need more than a "Saturday at 7:30?" from Hermione and a nod from Severus to make clear that they would go to the Hall together.

Severus knew that these weekend arrangements made for a lot of rumours at the university. He was a professor there and Hermione was his student and so an intimate relationship between them would have been considered "inappropriate". But his superior never asked - as most people at the university he knew that Severus had been very close to Hermione's late husband and he seemed to appreciate that Severus didn't only look after his dead friend's widow, but after his young son too. Yet some of Severus's colleagues had dared to ask – but only in getting a stare back. And Severus was still very good in staring people down.

About the students' talking Severus didn't care. When he'd learned one thing in his past, then it was that rumours weren't worth any excitement. If people liked to think that he had an affair with the young widow – what was this to Severus? He could think of a lot worse things then people reckoning about him having an affair with a bright and certainly not ugly 21 year old. As long as no one dared to say he'd favour her he really couldn't have cared less. The only thing he had cared about was Hermione's reputation, but for saying so he earned a hearty laugh by her. "Dear Severus! I don't give a fill-in-what-you-like for rumours anymore. The people I care for know who I am. On stranger's opinions about me I'm not interested. As long as your girlfriends don't come to throttle me because they're jealous, I don't have a problem to live with people believing I'd share your bed too. Only it's a rather crowded place, isn't it?"

Severus had only grunted to that – but she'd been true. After becoming a decorated war hero Severus had come in use not only with students having a crush on him, but with former pupils discovering thaty aly always had found their snarky potion master sexy. Some of them even went so far to tell him and it was not as if he'd always feel a need to run away then. Just on the contrary – he enjoyed it to become seduced now and then by a witch and he even didn't mind if a talented one asked after a first night for a few performances more. Sometimes he even made the play then a five or six weeks run, but then the witches mostly started to become too demanding for his taste.

The last one had already in the second week opened the floodgates as he'd told her he wouldn't see her on the weekend and as she had told him that she wouldn't like to "share" him with this "bushy haired blue stocking Dumbledore who thinks herself the cream of the cake only because she was married to a legendary mummy" he'd shown her that peace times didn't necessarily mean he'd lose his bite. He'd given the girl a good piece of his mind – and afterwards he'd made an appointment with the lady who wanted to take over the now vacant place in his bed.

Crossing now the street he saw how the blue painted door of Hermione's house opened. A young man with brown hair, a very well muscled body and a smile much to toothy for Severus's taste jumped energetic down the steps to the garden, wavhis his hand and crying cheerfully: "Thanks for the coffee, honey. See you soon!" Walking through the garden he discovered Severus, was obviously for a moment terrified – an effect Severus enjoyed very much – but then he showed again a rather large set of pearly white teeth and shouted a "Morning, Professor Snape! Long time no seen!"

Severus looked at him as he usually looked on a messed up potion and said with only the slightest bowing of his head: "Mister Wood …"

The former Gryffindor and now very famous Canon Cudley beater blushed as he'd done once back in Hogwarts as Severus had caught him snogging and suddenly seemed to be in a hurry. Murmuring something about "Preparation – game today – Dublin" he apparated with a "pop."

In the same moment Severus heard the house's door again and grinning at Hermione who stood there in only a t-shirt, he commented Wood's departure with a sneered: "Exit frighten rabbit!"

"Oh, Severus! You're incorrectable," Hermione sighed. "The poor boy was already afraid of you enough. If I would have told him in the evening that I'm expecting you for breakfast, he'd have run away after dinner."

"And what a pity this would have been!" Severus kissed the cheek she was offering him and followed her in the house. "I didn't know you've warmed up your old liking for quidditch champions," he said be walking in the kitchen where a coffee pot and two cups stood on the table. "I've thought you're now in brains instead of bodies." Looking suspiciously to the two cups, he took a fresh mug from a board and poured himself coffee.

"Brains I possess myself, thank you very much," Hermione answered and poured herself coffee too. Then she took a cradle with fruit from a board, put it on the table, took an apple, sat down and said, biting into the apple: "You must admit, Oliver's got a rather nice body."

"Do forgive me, but I'm not very competent in judging men's bodies," Severus sneered. "But from what I remember about Mister Wood's brain, I'm not entirely convinced that even your rather big portion of it is enough to make the two of you an average intelligent couple."

"Says the man who just left Lavender Brown back in his bed." Hermione made a face. "Really, Severus – you're one to complain about my taste! Compared to Lavender dear Oliver is a mental giant."

Severus grinned. "You must admit: Lavender's got a rather nice body …" He took an orange out of the cradle and started to peel it. "Admittedly I wonder how you already knew. Do you supervise my bed?"

"Of course, Severus." Hermione chewed cheerful on her apple. "You know I only slept with Oliver because I can't have you. But as soon as you show me only the slightest sign of dropping your restrictions about students in your bed, I'll jump on you. And then I'll drive all Lavenders out of your life and …"

"… make me an honourable wizard?" Severus asked amused.

"Oh no! I once made a Slytherin an honourable wizard – and see where it got me!"

"In bed with a Gryffindor bore?" Severus licked orange juice from his fingers. "That's actually quite a shame."

"Huh? You're talking about yourself?"

"No one said, female Gryffindors would be boring in bed," Severus gave back. "Just on the contrary."

Hermione laughed. Rising up, she threw the rest of her apple in the dustbin. "Be careful, Severus. Don't forget: I'm a female Gryffindor."

"That's to to overlook." Severus grinned at her naked legs. "And actually a rather nice one to look at."

"Uh, Severus!" Hermione laid her hand against his forehead. "Are you sure you're well? I mean compliments at this time in the morning? Actually you're supposed to brood over a mug of black coffee, only opening your mouth for ranting with me because I've made you leave your bed companion without a chance for any nice morning exercises."

"Hermione, I'm afraid you're overestimating yourself." Severus was finish with his coffee and orange. He took the three mugs to the sink and cleaned them. "If I would have wanted morning exercises you couldn't have made me leave my bed. But after I've done at such an ungodly hour, I'd be rather grateful if you could get yourself presentable so we can leave."

"Well, well." Hermione marched to the door. "I'll just shower and dress. Five minutes, then I'll be ready."

"Make it 10 and brush your hair!" Severus called after her, before he went in the living room where he took a magazine from a shelf and sat down on a cosy chair in front of the little fireplace. But instead of reading he looked to the pictures on the mantelpiece.

One of them was a muggle photograph from of a very nice looking couplee mae man had brown hair like Hermione and even with his short cut one could see that it was as bushy as hers. The woman he smiled up to him was a beauty with honey brown eyes, delicate skin and silky raven hair. Though Hermione wasn't as breathtaking as her, the alikeness between mother and daughter was evident – Eleonore Granger had provided her daughter not only with her eyes and the porcelain skin, but with her very pretty hands too.

Next to the picture of Hermione's parents stood a wizards photo of Harry, flying on his broom only a few feet over the ground and holding a beaming three year old. At first sight they looked like father and son with the boy having jet black hair like Harry. But at second look the differences became clear: Little Leontes' hair was finer than Harry's – courtesy of his beautiful grandmother Eleonore Granger – and he had azure blue eyes.

The next picture Severus knew very well – he'd taken it himself. It showed Albus in a blue muggle polo shirt and shorts, sitting on a bench in the garden, one leg up. Hermione, in a light beige summer dress, sat in front of him, leaning against his chest. She held a book and both read it, Albus looking over her shoulder with his mouth ir har hair. They both hadn't noticed Severus as he'd photographed them, but later as he'd given Hermione the picture she'd beamed. Since then it was a favourite of hers.

Severus always thought that this very private picture made too strong a contrast to the next photograph on the mantelpiece. Yet Hermione always defended her choice with saying: "This one is the only of the both of you on which you don't look as if you were to bite!"

That wasn't true. Severus knew of at least two other photographs of Albus and him in which he even smiled. But they were taken after the final battle as Albus had already been very weak and so Severus understood why Hermione had chosen the one an auror had made on their last evening in Hogwarts. It was the last picture which showed Albus on his feet – and even more: Wearing a gorgeous burgundy and golden dress robe and even with his short hair and without the long beard – he'd been a sight on that evening, radiating sheer power. And Severus, thougwaysways very self-critical, thought he hadn't made a bad impression either, standing in black velvet next to Albus. Yet what wondered him even today: The auror with the camera had got him with a hint of a smile. Actually there hadn't been much cause for smiling, but he had tried to look friendly because he had know that Albus didn't want to see only gloomy faces on what he thought would become the last hours of his life.

Hermione was back – in jeans and a shirt, a sweater loosely around her shoulders and her hair in a pony tail. She looked still very young and sometimes Severus found it hard to believe that she was the mother of a three year old and already a widow. To him it seemed like yesterday that he'd seen her in a Hogwarts robe and with a heavy satchel full of books entering his potion class room. Yet this time he'd never thought she'd become so close to him. Close – and probably the most important person in his life.

"Severus?" She approached him, laying a hand on his arm. She knew him well – better than every other human being. "Did I jus second head without noticing it? You look at me as I did."

He smiled down at her and without any malice, but rather tender he answered: "I don't think I could stand a two-headed you. You'd probably talk with two mouths then …"

"I'd like that," Hermione grinned. "It would give me a fair chance to cope with your vitriolic tongue."

"Fair?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "Where did you get your ideas about fairness?"

Hermione took his hand and pulled him out of the house. Warding the door she smiled at him. "You know, my best friend is a Slytherin. He probably rubs off on me."

Severus liked very much she named him "her best friend", but of course, he wouldn't admit that to her. Instead he pulled his wand out. "Ready to go?"

"Of course. See you at the Hall!" With a "plop" Hermione disapparated.

Severus smiled to himself as he waved his wand and concentrated on his destination. Old habits really died hard – or rather didn't die at all. Even after three years in peace he'd never apparate before her – he still felt a need to make sure she wasn't followed. And he still was always glad, when he found her waiting in the Hall's garden – in one piece and with a smile. Yet this smile wasn't directed at him, but at her son who just stormed out of the house, waving a toy broom and screaming: "Mummy, Mummy, look! Uncle Sev – I've got a broom!"

Ginny Weasley followed the boy and on arriving Hermione and Seveshe she turned her eyes: "Harry came to the Burrow yesterday to see Leon. He gave him the broom."

Hermione was on her knees and hugging her son. "Hi, Sweetie. I've missed you."

Yet Leontes wasn't much interested in displays of motherly affection at that moment. He fidgeted to get on his feet again, looking up at Severus. "Uncle Sev – can you make it fly?"

When asked by one of his girlfriends if he'd like children, Severus said still – and with his most determined "don't forget who I am" voice, as Hermione had once named it – that he detested children of every age. And he didn't only say so because he didn't want to get one of the girls' funny ideas but because he still felt so. And no, he didn't see Leontes as the exception of the rule.

Leontes simply didn't count as "child" in Severus' opinion because he wasn't a child, but Leontes – a small and sometimes too ebullient, but nevertheless own person who had to be taken serious. Therefore Severus never cuddled him – and why shouldn't he? Leontes got enough cuddles from the women folk – Hermione, Ginny, Molly and even Minerva who obviously saw herself as honourable grandmother and forgot all her stern headmistress attitudes as soon as the boy came close to her. Besides the women weren't alone in always hugging and kissing Leontes. Arthur could hardly get around the boy without embracing him and even allowed him to seat on his lap when he was at his desk in the ministry. And Ron and Harry were hardly better than Arthur. So Leontes really didn't need Severus chasing him with kisses and hugs too. Of course – when they were alone with each other, wandering along the river side as they both liked, Leontes sometimes took Severus' hand. But this didn't count as less as "cuddling" as Severus taking the boy on his shoulders when he was tired. Leontes was Leontes and not any "child" and that he was the only person who'd ever got permission to shorten Severus' name to a "Sev" – Merlin's balls, "Severus" was rather a mouthful for a boy this age!

Although this very special relationship - to see Leontes look up at his "Uncle Sev" with this "I believe you can do everything"-look in the blue eyes made Severus always feeling a pang of sadness. It simply wasn't right that he was Leontes' male role model and that it was him the boy looked up like this. He didn't deserve this absolute and unquestioned admiration and this love. It should have belonged to Albus and he would have deserved and he would have loved his son back and he'd have made him and Hermione happy. For him, Severus Snape, former death eater and bastard extraordinaire, it was impossible to stand on the place which should have been Albus' and one day Leontes would learn this. One day – and Severus was sure this day would come sooner than he wished for – some one would tell the boy what a man his surrogate father really was. But until then Severus would look after the boy as he'd promised Albus.

So he bent on his knees now, taking the toy broom out of toy'soy's sweaty hands and said: "Let's see what I can do …"

"Severus!" cried Hermione and Ginny in infuriated unison.

"You can't make this thing fly!" Ginny proceeded, seconded by Hermione: "He's not even three years old!"

Leontes made a face – a pretty good copy of Severus' trademark sneer: "But I want to fly!" he protested.

Severus smiled at him. "And you will. But not so high your Mom and Aunt Ginny will have the jitters. You know, women are rather fearsome when it comes to flying."

"Ah?" Ginny Weasley sounded offended. "Did you forget that I was the seeker in the team who beat your precious Slytherins more then once?"

Severus didn't answer. He gave the toy broom back to Leontes. "Mount your broom, young man," he commanded and pulled his wand out. Directing it at the boy he murmured a "wingardium leviosa" just as Leontes kicked himself off the ground. The spell made the boy and broom hover in the air and Leontes squeaked in delight. 

"So." Severus came in the library and sank down in one of the cosy chairs in front of the fireplace. "Your little monster is sleeping. He was pretty groggy – we didn't even come to the fourth picture in his album." As always on the weekends in the Hall, Leontes had insisted on Severus bringing him to bed with his mother only coming up for a kiss – because she "needs that", as he'd seriously told Severus once. But after the kiss Hermione had to go because the last part of the weekend evening ritual was "for men only" and meant, that Leontes got the albums with the photographs of his father and made Severus tell a story to every one of them.

"Small wonder after flying all day and running around like mad," Hermione smiled. "I wish I have his energy."

"You aren't bad in the energy department either," Severus said, stretching his legs. "Only I feel now like an old man. A day with Leontes is more exercise than running through my lab all week."

"Poor old Uncle Sev!" Hermione raised and went to the fireplace. "What do you think would restore you best? Fire whiskey or sharing a bottle of Rioja with me?"

"Rioja would be nice." Severus kicked off his shoes and laid his feet in black socks on an empty chair. "But since when are we in Spain wines?"

"Since we've emptied all of Albus' French collection," Hermione answered and ringed for a house elf. "The Bordeaux last week was the last one. Now I've bought a few bottles of Rioja – I thought we could do with a change. I've always found the French a bit heavy."

Prissy, the youngest elf appeared with the usual "pop", looking a bit nervous because she was only since a few weeks in the Hall and felt still insecure. Hermione asked her politely for the bottle and two glasses, and then she sat down again, putting her feet up on the same chair as Severus. "It's nice to be at home …" she said with a content sigh.

"Are we alone this evening?" Severus asked. "Where's Ginny? Dating Mister Potter?"

Hermione turned her eyes. "Their relationship is off again," she said.

"For how long this time? Four days or four weeks?" Severus sounded bored.

"Ginny says it's forever. He can't get it in that pig head of his that she doesn't want to marry yet and him proposing once a week drives her crazy," Hermione told him.

Severus laughed. "You know it's rather funny. My relationships always go down the bog because I don't want to propose. Perhaps I should start dating Ginny."

The house elf came with the bottle and the glasses; Hermione took it and bid her farewell. Then she uncorked the bottle. "You won't date Ginny," she said by it. "She's got brains; therefore she doesn't suit your prey scheme." She poured a sip of the red vine in her glass and tasted it. "Not too bad."

Severus raised one of his elegant eyebrows. "You know, it's actually the man's task to taste the vine?"

"Chauvinist!" Hermione poured him a glass, gave it to him and leaned back, after filling her glass to the brim. "I'm pretty well able to try wine myself."

Severus drank a sip, rolling it around his tongue and enjoying the rich taste. "I don't deny it. You've even developed a better taste in wine than in men."

"About wine I learned from the best," Hermione said.

"And about men?" Severus asked dryly.

For a moment Hermione was silent. Then she said quietly: "I think we're pretty much alike in that, Severus. If one of us would have to choice some one to live with we both were very demanding. Perhaps even too demanding."

Severus looked into the dancing flames in the fireplace. "One day you'll have to choice, Hermione," he said then. "You can hardly spend the rest of your life with short-living, meaningless affairs."

"And why not?" Hermione sounded aggressive. "You obviously think you can – and since when are you a hypocrite?"

"I'm not a hypocrite, Hermione – at least not in that department." Severus drank another sip. "But I'm 42 years old and you're only 21. I've missed the train to marriage years before …"

"While I've been there," Hermione said. "And I think one marriage is enough."

"Is it?" Severus looked with a raised eyebrow at her, the light of the flames glittering in his dark eyes. "I didn't know it was such a hardship to you."

"Severus!" Hermione almost shouted. "You know, I don't like your sarcasm on this subject."

"I was not being sarcastic," he answered calmly. "You made it sound as if you'd have suffered so much you got enough of marriage to last you forever."

"I didn't suffer and you know that." Hermione filled her glass again. "It's just the other way round: I can't imagine I could become as happy with another man as I was with Albus. I still compare every man I meet to him – and who could stand a chance then?"

"Therefore you get yourself lover who are as far away from him as thinkable," Severus stated quietly. "But does that make you happy?"

"Happy …" Hermione repeated, breathing deeply. She shook her head. "No, Severus, I wouldn't name it happiness. Happiness is what I found with Albus. Happiness is what I get with Leontes smiling at me – and sometimes with my work and …" she sounded almost shyly now, "… it's probably a kind of happiness I feel when we sit here together. What I got from Stephen and now from Oliver …" she considered a moment, then she proceeded: "Let's call it 'fun' – or does that sound too frivolous for you?"

Severus smiled slightly. "Considered how my love life is I should be the last one to judge somebody who wants to have a little fun. You're probably even less frivolous in this than I am because you don't hurt anyone with it. Stephen wasn't in love with you and Wood …"

"He isn't in love with me either," Hermione said. "We are just acting on physical attraction. But do you think Lavender is in love with you?"

"I don't hope so," Severus answered. "I'm certainly not in love with her, but she's a nice girl. A bit silly and probably with the emotional range of a teaspoon, but I nevertheless wouldn't like to hurt her."

"So you care about her!" Hermione sounded almost amazed.

"Isn't that part of the physical attraction?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "Or, as Albus once said: 'Even for a Slytherin it's hard to make his member stand up for a lady he can't stand."

Hermione shook her head. "And how did he come to make this statement?"

Severus grinned. "It was his answer as I tried to persuade him in shagging Narcissa Malfoy."

"What?" Hermione choked on her wine and shuddered then. "How did you come to such an idea? I mean she is a beauty, no doubt about that. But I imagine sex with her is like banging an ice cube!"

"So Albus said too," Severus seemed very amused. "I told him then that he's a wimp and I even offered him a potion that'd have made him able to melt half of the South Pole – but he obviously was too afraid of getting chilblains on his crown jewels."

Hermione was still shaking her head. "I can't believe it!"

"Albus being a wimp?" Severus grinned even broader.

"No – yes." Hermione laughed. "You know he wasn't one. But why did you try to talk him into shagging Narcissa Malfoy? I mean it would have been nice to see Lucius' face by learning about it, but …"

"Lucius probably would have gotten a heart attack – and wouldn't that have been nice?" Severus said. "This was one of the reasons why I liked the idea. The other was: Dear Narcissa wanted it so much."

"Narcissa wanted Albus?" Hermione was fascinated. "I would always have thought that he was just her anti type!"

Severus filled up his glass again. Leaning back then he looked at Hermione. "You're not so naïve as you act now, Hermione. Even as a school girl at Hogwarts Narcissa was already after Albus as a bear after the honey pot. She craved nothing more than power – and Albus was the most powerful wizard alive. Even after she married Lucius she made a few passes at Albus and so I thought once that with Lucius as the dark lord's lapdog and his tendency to boast by his wife she could become a valuable source for information."

"In Albus' bed?" Hermione sounded sceptical. "Wouldn't she have tried to spy on him too?"

"Of course," Severus agreed. "But in a cat and mouse play with these partners – who, do you think, would have been the mouse? Albus certainly not."

"He hated power plays in private," Hermione said quietly. "And I can't imagine he'd have ever done a power play in his bed chamber."

"He didn't," Severus sipped at his wine. "I got him to consider it – it was at the time the order was weak and Voldemort very strong, shortly before the attack on the Potters. I wasn't high in esteem of Voldemort at this time – I had only a few weeks before 'messed up' another attack." His face became hard and his eyes cold. "I killed a wizard in this attack, Hermione," he said quietly, his voice neutral. He saw that Hermione swallowed and pale and proceeded, his voice still flat: "He was a death eater who had tried to betray the dark lord. Therefore he wanted to get him alive for making him suffer a long and painful death. The man knew and he begged me to kill him quickly. I did. Voldemort wasn't pleased, as you probably can imagine. I hardly made it back to Hogwarts in one piece and if Fawkes hadn't found me I wouldn't have survived. Afterwards I was for a few weeks out of the game and we became really desperate. Henceforth my idea of Albus bedding Narcissa. He thought about it, but then he decided he wouldn't go so far. I can't say I shared his moral scruples – but morality was always rather his field than mine. I was the spy – and spying is dirty work. Albus was the leader – and as such he had to see the great picture."

"I think he was right," Hermione said thoughtfully. "

"Of course you do. You're a Gryffindor," Severus said almost bored.

"Not all Gryffindors showed high moral standards during this war," Hermione reminded him.

"But having them is easier for a Gryffindor than it is for us snakes. You're walking in the light with every one expecting you to be good and brave. Even if one of your lot fails people are willing to find an apology like 'Every one can make a mistake and he didn't really mean it'. If one of us goes wrong, people say 'What did you expect? He's a Slytherin'. Even Albus being a Slytherin didn't save our reputation. He was seen as the exception from the rule and if I'd have got a galleon every time I heard somebody say that with him the sorting hat made a mistake, I'd be a rich man."

"He never doubted the Sorting Hat," Hermione said quietly. "But … "She looked at her companion. "Don't laugh at me, Severus, but …" hesitating she started new: "Craving power – you said Narcissa Malfoy did – and people say it's typical for Slytherins. But what about you? I know that Minerva asked you after the war to become her deputy and we both know what that means: With the exception of Albus almost every Hogwarts Headmaster was first deputy. So you would have become headmaster – but you refused. Isn't that not typical for a Slytherin?"

Severus sighed. "My, my, Hermione – sometimes you're really too Gryffindor. And Gryffindors mostly don't have a clue about power and what it really means. To me power is not about position, rank and status, but about knowledge. To know more then other people, to know things which could make me more domineering than other people – that's what power is about and that's a kind of power I'm keen for. And that's …" he became silent for a moment, then, drinking another sip of his wine and licking over his dry lips, he said in the tone of a confession: "That's what made me go to the dark side. As the son of my father and a Slytherin I couldn't hope for a good potion master taking me up as his apprentice. The only decent offer I ever got came from Albus – and at that time I couldn't take it. My pride didn't allow it. So it was mediocrity or Voldemort …"

Hermione shuddered, laying her arms around herself. "I hate to think of you as a death eater," she said quietly.

"But I was one," Severus said firmly.

"And what …" Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, not looking at him. "I've never asked you and probably I shouldn't, but I really would like to know what made you change sides."

Severus played with his glass. Letting the rest of his wine circle in it, he answered: "I think it was me being a true Slytherin."

"Hmm?" Hermione didn't understand.

Severus laughed – a short and bitter laugh. "As I said: I'm a Slytherin who wants power. And so I learned pretty soon that the dark lord would give me neither power nor knowledge. With him I got only so much that I needed to do his dirty deeds. I was his slave …"

"And so you went back to Albus?" Hermione asked.

"No." Severus shook his dark head. "I didn't intend to crawl back to him, hiding myself behind his back. Just on the contrary. I planned to pay for my mistake in judgement by going to Azkaban, getting the dementor's kiss. Informing Albus about …" Once again he studied the content of his glass, and then he emptied it with one gulp. "I think it was a pretty childish thing," he said then. "I couldn't forgive him about the incident with Lupin. He'd failed me with that and I was too young and too stupid to see his reasons. I thought he should have expelled Black – and as he refused and even threatened to obliviate me if I wouldn't give him my wizard's word of honour to keep it secret, I took this as 'Your life is not worth it to punish Black for endangering it'."

Slowly Hermione said: "I can imagine how miserable you felt. But Albus could hardly do other than he did – not without sending Remus away."

"It wasn't only Lupin," Severus said. "It was Black too. You know what his family was like. Expelling him from Hogwarts would have meant to get him under their influence again – and Albus knew that Black wasn't one to withstand strong influences. So it was kind of waging – on the one side me, already damned by my heritage and house and therefore to be seen as the lost case. On the other hand Lupin and Black."

"No," Hermione almost shouted. "I don't believe Albus ever saw you as the 'lost case'. You know he loved you like a son. And …," she breathed deeply, "… he certainly didn't like Sirius Black better then you. Just on the contrary. Molly – who wasn't a big fan of Black either – told me once about a row between you and him at Grimmault's Place. As Albus learnt about, he – I quote Molly – 'went berserk'. She said she'd rarely seen him so furious and she'd never heard him shout like he shouted with Sirius then."

Severus laughed. "Molly missed the row Albus and I had about that. I was afraid he'd blow down the walls of my dungeons with his rage." Filling his glass again he looked at Hermione. "But back to your question why I went back. I did it because I wanted to hurt Albus. Just so simple. It was defiance – something like 'look what you've made me become."

"Today," Hermione said slowly. "He'd like very much what you've become. And so do I …" She bent forwards and took his hand. Looking into his eyes she smiled: "From all the things I've got from him – it's you and Leontes that means the most to me."

Severus fought for a moment against awkwardness. He'd never been good in showing somebody affection and he actually was a shy man – at least when it came to showing his heart. But this was Hermione and she was his best friend and so he bent over her hand and kissed it. "From what I ever got from Albus – including that he gave me a life worth living – it's you and Leontes that I appreciate most. The two of you are a big part of what makes my life worth living."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25: That's what friends are for

"Bang!" A door fell with a shout. "Brumm" – a few sparks flied through the garden then an angry manly voice shouted: "You know what, Hermione Dumbledore? You're far from being as great like you think!" Steps sounded through the yard and a "crack" announced that the little door in the gate had got a kick.

Ginny Weasley, sitting in her study in front of her laptop, sighed and shook her head. She'd just tried to concentrate on an article about the newest trend in the magical world, but with Titus Ollivander and Hermione shouting at each other for the last hour it had been almost impossible to think of wizards going online. Even the nice story about a wizard and a witch who'd met each other in an online community without knowing about being magical and nevertheless falling in love with each other had lose a bit of its romantic touch with the couple upstairs just rowing to pieces what had begun as a nice romance a few months before. And now Hermione stormed down the stairs and once again a door banged – this times the kitchens.

Ginny sighed again; secured the few lines she'd written, rose up and went to the kitchen where Hermione was just bewitching the coffee machine. Hearing Ginny she immediately began to rant: "I'll never date another wizard again! They're all incredibly thick, old-fashioned, ghastly chauvinists who think that the possession of a more or less working dangler is enough to make them superior and us their obedient slaves. You can tell them twice a day that you don't want to become a good, little house wife and that you'd rather swallow a pickled flabberworm than to get more children – it's useless! Perfectly useless. They smile at you, they even tell you, that they like independent women, but a few weeks later they waltz in with a bunch of flowers and a smile as if they were to give you a star out of heaven and then they start to babble about meeting the parents – as if I wouldn't have got enough of meeting his father three times in my life! I'd actually have got enough in meeting him once because that lecherous old pervert always looks as if he'd like to show one the wrinkled, useless, ugly old wand he keeps in his trousers!"

Hermione's coffee was ready, but pouring them in a cup and seating down didn't stop her tirade. "And he'd love so much to meet my son! Such a cute boy – and I would have to think about Leontes becoming older and needing a father and he could play quidditch with him." She had to stop to swallow her coffee.

Ginny, getting herself a cup too, laughed. "The part about Leontes and quidditch I've heard. It was rather funny, considered that my brothers and Harry obviously try to make Leon a champion even before he starts at Hogwarts."

Hermione turned her eyes. "Even Severus becomes mad about that. Last weekend he tried to convince me that it's time to buy Leontes a 'real good broom'. Did you ever hear such bullshit? Leontes is six! A fire bolt is doubled as long as he is!"

"But I'm sure he could handle it," Ginny said. "He's exceptionally talented in flying."

"And he's exceptionally talented in potions, but I won't buy him a real good cauldron either! He's six, for goodness sake!" Hermione banged with her fist on the table.

Ginny giggled. "You don't have to buy him a cauldron. He is allowed to use Severus' favourite – and even his knife."

"What?" Hermione shook her head so furious, that a long, brown curl fell out of her bun. "Severus must be crazy!"

"He is. When it comes to Leon and you, he quite is," Ginny sighed. "Which brings me to my usual question? After you've finished another affair …"

"You make it sound as if I change my lovers more often than my knickers!" Hermione sulked.

"Five in the last five years," Ginny only said.

Hermione grinned. "My knickers I change daily. Besides: You know I wouldn't change lovers so often if they wouldn't always get funny ideas about moving in or marrying."

"People in love usually move in together sooner or later," Ginny said.

Hermione turned her eyes. "Next thing you tell me that decent women only sleep with a man when they're in love with him."

Ginny giggled. "I'd be one to tell! I couldn't say I'm in love with Dennis. But he makes for good sex …"

"And for Harry boiling", Hermione added, looking seriously at her girlfriend. "Sometimes I really don't understand you. I know Harry is a pig head and sometimes as thick as a brick, but you love him. Aren't you afraid he'll give up one day and marry some one else?"

"That's the risk I have to live with," Ginny answered dryly. "At the moment I don't want to marry. I'm just 23 years old, I've only started my career – and as long as Harry doesn't get how important it is to me, but only wants me if I marry him and pop out one baby after the other, I don't want him."

Hermione looked down on her empty mug. Slowly she said: "You know I understand you. Who would if not I? But on the other hand: If I could have Albus back I'd probably start getting an ee que quidditch team if he'd want me to."

Ginny laid her hand on Hermione's. "That's the difference, Hermione: Albus wouldn't have wanted it. I'm sure he'd have become the most devoted father to Leontes and he'd certainly have loved him to pieces. But he never saw you only as the sweet little wife who was only there for fulfilling his wishes. He was proud of your talent and …" Ginny's eyes became as sad as Hermione's. "It's actually quite funny, Hermione: Albus was a more modern man than Harry ever will be. In Albus' last weeks we talked a lot when I sat with him. And he told me once that he'd have liked to stay at home, raising the child while you were going to do your career – and he meant it, Hermione! I'm sure he'd loved it. But Harry wants the old model: He having his career and me having the children. And this I can't do – at least not at the moment."

"Then let's hope he'll wait until you'll be ready," Hermione said.

Ginny looked at her seriously. "The same to you, friend!" she said then, raising her mug in mock salute. "Though I think you're living more dangerously in that department than I am. Severus' latest lady won't give up as easily as her predecessors – and she's a bit cleverer than dear Lavender."

"I wouldn't mind if he'd marry her," Hermione said lightly. "I even think it would do him good. He becomes too old for affairs."

"You're right." Ginny rose and went to get the coffee pot. "For Severus it's time to settle down. And that means that you will have to make up your mind finally."

"Ginny!" Hermione rummaged with both hands in her now open hair. "For the : I am not in love with Severus. He's my best friend – but nothing more."

"Yes, of course." Ginny turned her eyes. "And you're absolutely immune to him. You don't see how sexy he is with the hair at his temple becoming grey and you don't see what a glorious arse he hides under those robes and you never feel a shiver run down your spine when he speaks with that erotic voice of his and you have never thought about what a talent as a lover he got. I mean, how could you? He's just your friend – and so you're probably the only witch at this university who never looks at his hands, thinking 'Huh – I'd like to know what he can do with them except chopping nasty potion ingredients!"

"Oh sweet Merlin!" Hermione grumbled. "I'm neither deaf nor blind. Of course I know that he's a very attractive man. And I was married to a Slytherin in case you've forgotten. So I know that they're probably the best lovers one can get – at least if they're as intelligent and sensual and sensitive as Severus is. But …," she went to the window and looking out in the garden, she said: "It's too much of a risk, Ginny."

"What's a risk?" Ginny almost cried. "Don't you know that he loves you? It's in his eyes every time when he looks at you! And he actually looks rarely at something else when you're around him."

"But we wouldn't work as a couple," Hermione said quietly. "I was the one who even drove Albus more than once crazy. And he was a much softer man than Severus."

"Albus was soft?" Ginny shook her head. "Forgive my French, Hermione, but that's bullshit. Your husband had a hell of a temper. He only was very good in controlling it."

"But Severus isn't!" Hermione said. "We would battle all the times."

"No more than you do now." Ginny ginned. "Probably it would become even less because you'd find a nicer way to release the tension than shouting at each other."

Hermione sighed. For a long moment she was silent, and then she said hesitantly: "I'm not as convinced as you about Severus loving me. I mean he likes me – he likes me a loor tor this I'm sure. But love? He never once showed the slightest hint …"

"Only that he kissed you once," Ginny reminded her friend. "And it was at a time when you were his friend's wife. I think that means a lot with a man like Severus."

"But it was more than six years ago!" Hermione said. "Since then – nothing although I'm not his friend's spouse anymore. Probably to him it would still feel like betraying Albus."

Ginny sighed. "Is this your reason, Hermione? Would it feelyou you as if you cheated on Albus?"

"Nonsense!" Hermione answered without delay. "As much as I still mourn for him and as much as I still miss him – I've come to term with the fact that Albus is death. If sex with another man would feel like cheating on him I wouldn't have slept with one of my lovers. Besides: I know that Albus would hate it if I'd spend my life in celibacy."

Ginny nodded. "He certainly wouldn't. But I don't think he'd be too happy about your life as i now now." She looked down at her hands which lay in her lap. "You know when I heard that he had supported Harry in running away, I was pretty angry with him. He felt it – of course he did. He always felt such things. And one day as I sat with him he told that love is not about keeping, but about setting the beloved free. He wanted you to be free too, Hermione."

"I am free," Hermione said firmly. "It's you who wants to talk me into a steady relationship."

Ginny k hek her head. "You're wrong, Hermione. You're not free as long as you cling to Albus' memory, not allowing another man to come close to you. And if you're honest with yourselou wou will admit it: You play around with boys like Oliver and Titus because you know; they won't endanger you of falling in love with them. With them you can sleep without giving up your love for Albus. With Severus you couldn't do that. Therefore you avoid coming close to him."

Hermione sunk her head and for minutes she didn't s wor word. Ginny waited patiently. She knew she'd just got through the thick wall Hermione had built around her heart. But then Hermione looked at her, tears in her eyes: "And what if I really wouldn't like to give up that love? It would feel as if I'd lose Albus finally! And this I can't stand Ginny. I simply can't."

Ginny rose up and went over to the window, whHermHermione still stood. Embracing her she said: "You can't lose him and your love finally because a part of it is alive. Leontes is what your love created and as long as you love him you will always love Albus in him. Leontes is his son and even I who wasn't so close to his father as you can't look at him without remembering Albus. But I think your heart is big enough for more love …"

Hermione started to cry. "Albus said so once. He used those very words …"

"He was a wise man," Ginny stroked Hermione's cheek. "He knew you well and he knew that in your heart they is room not only for Leontes and the memory of Albus, but for Severus too. And he deserves you give him this space. He already owns a big part of it – so why not give him all?"

"Pes bes because it wouldn't be enough?" Hermione asked sadly. "Wouldn't he deserve to become loved exclusively? How would he feel if he had to share?"

Ginny hugged her friend again. "Darling Hermione – don't you see it? Severus is probably the only man on this earth who won't find it hard. He's the one who won't become jealous of Albus and Leontes because he loves them too." 

She had it coming. She had known it and now she couldn't understand herself anymore. Why ever had she let herself in doing something so absolutely stupid, so completely silly, and so utterly idiotic? How could she have let herself in such insanity? Hadn't she got her share of hurt and pain already? Had she really needed to become humiliated like that? She had behaved like an utter idiot – as if she wouldn't know him, as if she would never had experienced how cruel and hard he could be!

Sinking down on one of the paled roots, panting after the run to the apparition point, she pulled her wand out of the sleeve of her teaching robe. She didn't want to be disturbed by some one strolling along the river; she even didn't want to see the swan who sometimes visited her when she sat on the island. She needed time to think and to calm down. So she put the wards up again – still Albus' wards, though a bit altered by her.

She really should have known better. He'd never been a fluffy kitten, but always more of a tiger with a toothache. And how he'd looked at her – his eyes, these glittering black eyes! Just to think of them made her shudder and wrapping her arms around herself again. How could she have gone so wrong? How could she have come to think that he would love her? He wasn't able to love – at least not her.

"How dare you?" His voice – not silk over steel, but uncovered steel, sharp as a knife, cutting through her.

"How dare you?" Three words only. But when had he ever needed much more for hurting? Last time he'd made her feel thoroughly humiliated; he'd needed only one word more. And she'd thought she'd have forgotten about it! She'd really believed the wound he'd given her then would have been completely healed. But now he had ripped it open again aven ven rubbed salt in it. Now she remembered again – and only too well – how she'd once stood in front of the potion class back at Hogwarts after Malfoy had hexed her. She'd felt how her front teeth had grown, reaching over her bottom lip, touching the chin, making her look like a beaver. And there he'd stood, arms crossed over his chest, a malicious smile around his small mouth, sneering: "I see no difference."

He'd known that he'd hurt her. He'd known that day back in Hogwarts and he'd known it now. And in both cases he'd enjoyed it – hadn't he?

"How dare you?"

She'd never expected that. She'd been prepared for something like "I don't think that's a good idea" or "We shouldn't do that." She'd thought over the scenario at least a 100 times before and no, she hadn't really believed he'd immediately fall on his knees, confessing his undying love for her.

She had been prepared to seduce him – tenderly, passionately, showing him, how much she loved and desired him. She'd even prepared to persuade him with logic and arguments. But she hadn't been prepared for "How dare " Sh" She hadn't been prepared for feeling as if she'd insulted him!

"How dare you?" She still wasn't sure what he'd meant with shouting that at her. Did he really love thatly bly bitch? The woman he'd once named a "cow" himself? Did he now really care for that sorry excuse for an academic who's only research project was the hunt for a professor – with a preference for a wealthy one out of one of the old families?

Was he now making up with her? Hermione thought she could hear his voice, in this case silken again: "Don't mind her. You know she was always jealous of you. She can't stand seeing us happy. She only kissed me because she wanted to drive you away." Probably he'd even maintain he hadn't kissed back. He was a Slytherin and he never would have mind lying when it served his purpose. But he had kissed her back! And even more. Hermione had felt how his body had reacted to their closeness, how he'd started to sweat and how he'd pressed his groin against her. He had wanted her as much as she'd wanted him, hadn't he? Or had it been simply a male's reaction to a female making a pass at him? She wouldn't find out. Probably he was now just busy with releasing the tension in fucking Cho.

She'd heard Cho's voice, saying coldly: "Oh – that's what I'm to find out, Hermione?" Severus had dropped her like a hot potato. Stepping back, he'd looked at Cho who'd smiled like the sharp which had just swallowed the herring. "Not bad for a Gryffindor, Hermione. Your late Slytherin husband, the master of manipulation and meddling, taught you well!"

Did Severus really believe that she'd forced that scene? His "How dare you" had sounded like it.

But how could he think so low of her? How could he believe that she'd blame him and her like that? Of course, she'd told him already that from all his lovers in the last years Cho was the one she detested most. And yes, as she'd met the pretty Asian on the campus a few days before, she had argued with her. And yes again, she had said: "You'll soon find out that Severus isn't cut out to be a husband – at least not for you!" But she hadn't meant it – nor had she?

Hermione laid her arms around her legs and braced her chin on her knees. She'd always been honest with herself and so she wouldn't deny that she'd thought of herself as the reason for Cho and Severus separating. She had – as Ginny so often had demanded – made up her mind about him, she had – finally – admitted to herself that he wasn't only her friend, but the man she loved and … yes, he was the man she desired.

To confess this had been hard. For years she'd denied herself to think of Severus as a man. He was her friend, he'd been something like a son to Albus and the closeness she'd felt to him – it had developed because of Albus! He'd once asked her to befriend Severus and their mutual love for Albus had always been part of their strong bound with each other.

For years Hermione hadn't been able to think of Severus without thinking of Albus too. The images of Severus she'd kept in her mind as precious treasures had been memories of Albus and him. But now – no the memory of Albus hadn't paled. She still could remember every detail of him. She still knew how the vein on his left temple had felt when she'd kissed him there. She still could remember his always a bit raw lips on her skin. She often heard his husky voice in her mind, she remembered his chuckle, his long, elegant hands with the perfect nails, the feeling of his silken hair against her fingers when she'd played with his mane, she still knew only too well how it had felt to sleep with him.

But now she was also aware that Albus was the past. Her future – her future was Severus. She'd stopped to deny herself from looking at him as the man he was. She'd started to notice his almost feline movements, his dexterous hands, and his body under the black robes.

And heavens – he was worth looking at! He was like a good red wine: With every year he became older, he became better. In Hogwarts she'd never thought of him as attractive – just on the contrary. But now after he'd gained a little weight his face wasn't so gaunt anymore and with getting enough sleep and fresh air his skin wasn't swallow anymore, but looked healthy and fine. And his nose didn't look too big anymore, but aristocratic. Hermione sometimes watched his profile when he thought she wasn't looking at him and it reminded her of a Roman emperor – proud, confident, radiating intelligence and power.

He'd grown his hair, now reaching over his shoulders and not pitch black anymore, but with silver strands, mostly kept from his face in a neat ponytail. It made him look even more imposing and Hermione often thought that now he even was in a way alike to Albus. Sure – Severus would never wear robes like Albus, but even in his usual black – now mostly velvet with a little silver – he looked like the model of a well breaded wizard from one of the old, noble houses. And … Hermione had to admit it: Severus looked damn appetizing.

Nevertheless she hadn't intended to kiss him as she'd entered his office on that day. Of course, she'd gone there with the intention to seduce him – but not immediately! Her idea of it didn't include stuffed offices with paper laden desks, but something like a romantic dinner, candlelight and soft music. And for that she'd just wanted to invite him. But as she'd seen him, seating at his desk, brooding over a formula while chewing at the end of his quill, she'd suddenly felt a rush of tenderness and affection towards him. At that moment she'd been sure – absolutely sure – that she had been right in coming, that it would be right to tell him about her changed feelings and that every thing would fall in its place.

Well-mannered as always he'd rose as he heard her greeting and he'd come around his desk, approaching her for the usual kiss on her cheek. Only then Hermione had just turned her head – and so his lips hadn't landed on her cheek, but on her mouth and by doing so it had send shivers down her spine. She hadn't thought about it, she'd simply opened her mouth, clinging to him, one hand on his neck, the other stroking down his back to the swell of his buttocks.

Sweet Merlin – Cho Chang couldn't really have found a worse moment for storming the citadel! Hermione had just started to deepen the kiss, her tongue making contact with Severus', her body pressed against his tall frame, her hand fondling his backside. And how she'd enjoyed the closeness and his smell! In these days he used a shampoo with nasturtium, rosemary and lavender. Hermione always connected this fragrance with summer – the hot summer days when they were in the Hall and from the garden came the smell of nasturtium, roses, lavender, rosemary and other herbs, warmed from the sun. She saw in front of her inner eye Severus – on such days not in his black robes, but mostly in light linen trousers and matching shirt, strolling through the garden with Leontes at his side. The boy loved tardearden and he was good with plants. He enjoyed caring for them and he was proud, when Severus used one of the herbs he'd grown for a potion. And Leontes' talent as a herbologist – Hermione wouldn't have known, but Severus had told the boy once that it was something he'd inherited from his paternal family. "Your father always was too busy with other things, besides he wasn't the most patient man, but your uncle Aberforth was great with plants and grew the best lavender I ever got. It was even better than lavender from France. And your grandmother was famous for breading tropical herbs. She was the first who managed to grow Brazilian xentrixoxes in England."

Hermione sighed. Severus and his knowledge about the magical world, Severus and his love for Leontes – he had really become a father to her son and although he still refused to admit it: He was terribly proud of the boy.

"Sssss …" the wards Hermione had set around the island flickered and hissed an angry sound, blue and red sparks shout around. Then water splattered and Hermione heard a loud, furious: "Fuck!"

Looking around she saw Severus, just rising up in the water, his black robe not billowing, but hanging wet around him, his face flushed in rage and embarrassment. Pulling his wand out of his sleeve and directing it at the island, he bellowed: "Hermione, I know you're there! Open the wards immediately or I'll blow them up! And I don't care if I blow you up with them."

Despite her misery and the knowledge that a livid Severus really was able to blow not only the wards, but half of the island up, Hermione giggled. She was so relieved that he'd come – and he really looked hilarious, standing there in the river, his clothes soaking wet and even his hair dripping. But Hermione knew that he wouldn't suffer further delay gladly, so she raised her wand and dropped the wards.

Severus waddled to the strand, splatterand and cursing. Looking at Hermione, he accused her: "You did that on purpose!"

"Of course I set the wards up on purpose!" she answered crisply. "Aren't you always telling me that even in peace times one couldn't be cautious enough? Besides: I wanted to be left alone."

"For what?" Severus didn't look at Hermione, but casted drying charms on his clothes. "Planning another attempt to embarrass me? You won't have to – Cho is gone, after shouting a few lousy hexes at me. I suppose she's just on her way to see Skeeter."

"Skeeter?" Hermione jumped on her feet. "But she can't tell her – not without admitting that she has an affair with you herself!"

"Wrong tense, Hermione." Severus looked in disgust to the mud and sand covering his black boots. After cleaning them with another spell, he said: "She doesn't have an affair with me anymore. You succeeded in destroying our relationship."

"Pity." Hermione said curtly and cynic. She sat down on one of the roots again. "But you won't tell me that she was the love of your life and that you already bought the ring for proposing to her, will you?"

Severus was finished with the drying and cleaning spells. Looking at her out of small eyes, he sneered: "Whatever I intended to do – it was no business of yours. I don't interfere in your love life, so please keep away from mine too!"

Hermione once again sighed. Quietly she said: "I didn't know she'd come back. As I entered the lab, she was just leaving. I thought she'd go for the weekly meeting of her idiotic women club."

"And you didn't think she'd follow you in my office?" Severus sounded ironic. "Please, Hermione – don't sell me for an idiot! You knew, how jealous she was about you. You can't tell me you weren't aware she wouldn't leave you alone with me."

Hermione shook her head. "I even wasn't aware she'd seen me. I got a glimpse of her on her way out and knowing about the meeting, I thought this would be a chance to get you on your own."

"Ah?" He raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that? Then, pray tell me, why you jumped at me! If it wasn't for driving Cho away – for what purpose you did it then?"

Hermione slowly shook her head. "Severus," she said with a sigh. "I am starting to think that Slytherins are exceptionally thick when it comes to matters of love. Albus once needed three Gryffindors – Molly, Harry and me – until he got it. How much will you need? Would it be enough if Minerva and Molly try? Or shall I get Arthur and Harry for a go too?"

Severus looked as if he'd like to throttle her. "I don't need any Gryffindors!" he sneered. "I've wished for all my life to be left alone by them!"

Hermione grinned maliciously. She knew him too well. Alone the fact that he'd followed her on the island instead of trying to make it up with his girlfriend showed her that he cared more about her than he'd ever cared about the "Miss Cow Cho Chang" as Ginny always named the pretty Ravenclaw. Only she found that he'd deserved a little punishment for his accusations. How could he believe she'd play foolish games with him? "Pity – it seems you're stuck with a Gryffindor, Severus," she said therefore. "I don't intend to give up on you."

"What do you mean by that?" Now he looked not angry anymore, but confused.

Hermione found him almost cute with his big eyes and she fought for a moment against the impulse to grab and kiss him. She hadn't been married to a Slytherin for nothing. With Albus she'd learned that they claimed to be the inventors of subtlety, but nevertheless needed clear words and clear signs to understand simple messages. And with Severus it was probably even worse than with Albus. He was so much use to thinking around at least three corners that he often needed to be reminded of the fact that a Gryffindor like Hermione thought and acted always straightforward. So Hermione breathed deeply, looked at his eyes and said slowly and clearly: "I'm in love with you, Severus. And I want us to become an item."

"You're what?" he shouted. One of his hands landed in his hair, rummaging through it. "I don't think I understood this right."

"But you did!" Hermione smiled sweetly at him. "I'm in love with you."

Now Severus sat down – or better said: He tumbled down onto a root. He shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard, and then he looked up to her. "What do you expect me to do now? Fall on my knees, crying something like 'Oh, my sweet love, I thought you'd never admit it'?" He sounded harsh, but Hermione knew him too well to fall for his tone. She wasn't in the slightest bit surprised about this reaction. It was typical Severus: When in doubt – bite!

Hermione sighed and rose up. Breathing deeply she walked the two steps to Severus. Kneeling down in front of him she looked in his eyes and said quietly: "You kissed me once in Paris. And today you kissed back."

He avoided her gaze and starred over her shoulders to the river. "What does a kiss means? We've both kissed a lot of people in the last years, Hermione. It never meant much."

"But me kissing you and you kissing me – that means something. That means in fact a lot – and you know that!" she answered. Taking his hand, she laid it on her face and snuggled her cheek in it. "Severus - I don't want to play around anymore. I want to love and to be loved …"

"And you think I could love you?" He didn't sound harsh, but almost desperate. "Did you forget who I am?"

"No. I didn't. Just the contrary." Hermione said seriously. "I know you're Severus Snape – one of the most brilliant potion masters of our time, a very powerful wizard, a …"

"… former death eater," he finished her line dryly.

"Former," Hermione only said.

For a few seconds he only looked at her, his black eyes neutral and unreadable. Then he sighed. "You know, our friendship means a lot to me." Swallowing he proceeded, his voice now firmer and harder: "I refuse to spoil it. I'm not good in relationships. You'd become fed up with me after only a few weeks …"

Hermione couldn't resist smiling maliciously. "You mean, you're such a lousy lover?"

"What?" He sounded insulted. "I'm not a lousy lover! But I wasn't talking aboy quy qualities as a lover!"

"About what were you talking then?" Hermione demanded to know. "All other of your qualities I know. And in the contrast to you I know that you're able to love. I know how much you loved Albus …"

"Sometimes I could have throttled him!" Severus grumbled.

"Me too," Hermione smiled. "He could be very trying."

"You know what I hated most about him?" Severus looked at her.

"No. What was it?" Hermione asked.

Severus sighed. "That he was mostly right." Looking at the sky, he said: "I mean to hear his laughter now …" Bending down at her, he cleared his throat. "You know, that he wanted us to become an item?"

"Yes," Hermione answered. "He asked me to look after you. I had to promise him I'd never give up on you."

"Hmpft!" Severus said. "Typical of him … but he asked me to look after you too." He fell silent, looking not in her eyes, but again at the sky over the island. It just started to become darker, grey clouds were sailing in the upcoming wind.

For a few seconds Severus and Hermione were silent, and then she said slowly and quietly: "In this case he was probably a bit wrong."

"Hmm?" Severus didn't understand.

"He thought it would become easier with the promises we both gave him. But he was wrong. You always hated when you felt pushed by him. You always became a bit defiant then …"

"Defiant?" Severus raised once again an eyebrow. "I wouldn't name it 'defiant'. I always intended to keep my promise. And that means that I won't do anything to endanger the friendship we've built up. Just so simple."

"But it's never simple, Severus – not when a Gryffindor and a Slytherin are involved." Hermione smiled at him.

A flash lightened the now very dark sky, followed by a roaring thunder. The wind gripped the trees and shook them, a few thick drop of rain splattered in the water of the river. Severus gripped Hermione's hand and pulled her up. "I've had my amount of wetness for today; I don't want to become showered again. Let's apparate into the Hall …"

"Oh …" Hermione sighed. "I'm so sorry, but the wards of the Hall are up. We can't apparate directly into it."

"Great!" Severus ranted. "I've always thought I'm the paranoid one." He ducked because a thick raindrop just hit his neck.

"Let's apparate to the university," Hermione suggested.

"Are you mad? Distance apparating in a thunderstorm? No, thank yery ery much – as much as I hate to become soaked again – it's better than to become spliced! So it's the hall …" With one quick grip he pulled her to his chest and waved his wand.

Herm fel felt the familiar tug of an apparition spell around her navel, and then the spinning and whirling that was always connected to it. Yet it only went for a few seconds, and then she fell on her feet, still in Severus' arms. He'd landed them at the gate to the Hall's garden. Taking Hermione's hand, he spurted with her through the heavy rain to the door, but even in running they couldn't prevent becoming as wet as bathed mice. Reaching inside, they stood on the marble floor, both dripping and looking at each other. Severus was the first who started to laugh. Stroking a strand of wet hair out of Hermione's forehead, he said: "You look like something the cat got in …"

"Oh thanks!" Hermione took the sleeve of his robe and wringed it out. "You know, you're not looking very professorial in the moment? But …" Stepping closer to him, she shove his wet robe down his shoulders, stroking with both hands over his chest in the frockcoat. "Oh – wet too … does this mean your shirt is soaked?" she purred.

"Hermione …"

His Adam's apple was bobbing as he swallowed. Stretching on her tiptoes, she blew a kiss on his mouth. "Don't you think we should get out of our wet clothes?"

"Hermione …" He swallowed again. "I meant it. I don't want to lose you as my friend …"

"You won't. I'll always be your friend. But now …," once again she kissed him lightly, "… I want you to become my lover too. I want you to make love to…"

For a moment he stood rigid. Then, suddenly, he bent his head. Looking in her eyes, he said with an almost shy smile: "Well then – your place or mine?"

"Mine! The bed's bigger!" Hermione answered promptly, took his hand and led him up the stairs.

The master bedroom of the Hall – the house elves still named it so though it was now years since the 'mistress' bedroom' – had changed a few years before. Shortly after Albus' death Hermione and Molly had spent two entire days in changing not only the furniture, but the walls too. The French green fabric brocade – an invention of Albus' mother who'd loved green – was gone, instead of it cream silk, softly shimmering, was now thlingling colour of the room. The thick carpet – green with gold – which had once covered the floor was gone too and so had the huge four poster bed with the green hangings disappeared. Hermione had murmured something like "mot catcher" and that she actually never had liked hangings much because even with magical cleaning – to her they looked always dusty. For her it was a plain, king size bed with a light blue silken cover. And next to it didn't stand wooden nightstands anymore, but two very modern she shelves – glass and chrome. Yet the high backed chair next to the bed, the chair Severus had so often sat in during Albus' last months, was still there. Only his upholstering had changed too – once again from green to cream. And the old sofa in front of the fireplace wasn't there anymore, but there stood now a big, cream couch with a glass and chrome table in front of it.

Severus first had thought he wouldn't like the changes. But now he was not only use with them, but had to admit that they made the room friendly and suited Hermione. The style was plain, but elegant – and that was her, wasn't it?

Only one thing about the bedroom he didn't like much: For his taste it was too bright. At least this afternoon after the thunderstorm because on this afternoon he stood there and Hermione, nibbling at his neck, had just started to open the buttons of his collar and he know, that she wouldn't stop until … and no, he wasn't ashamed of his body, he was not … but … for heaven's sake, he wasn't 25 years old anymore and he wasn't a quidditch champion like the boys she was use with and he didn't spend his days flying around on a broomstick, but working in a lab or at a desk and he was in the possession of a mirror – of course not a talking one because he'd always disliked them, but nevertheless a mirror in front of which he sometimes stood, taking stock. Very satisfied he'd never been then. Of course, it could have been worse. He'd got long and pretty straight legs, his hips were narrow and his firm buttocks probably the best part on his anatomy – so most of his lovers had said. But there was this ghastly scar on his chest and … he couldn't deny it: He got a belly. Where Oliver Wood's probably showed firm muscles, he showed soft flesh. And over it … he'd never had much hair on his chest and in his younger days this had been something his housemates had made fun about too. Whenever they caught him in the shower – and they'd always tried to get him there – they'd teased him about hhairhairless titties". It had gotten so much under his thin skin, that as an apprentice he'd once tried to brew a hair growing potion. But this had led to embarrassment too because his master had found him out and as brilliant as Nicolas Flamel had been in his work – his socikillkills, especially with his shy and insecure, broody and often defiant apprentice hadn't been too great. He'd never got that Severus really suffered when teased – or had he got it, but simply not minded? Severus didn't know. Yet he knew – even today – that he was by no means a handsome man.

With his affairs he hadn't minded. There it had always been a "take me or leave me" – and most of them had taken him even with some enthusiasm because his skills in matters of sex weren't too bad. He always thought it fair to care for the pleasure of his ladies – and being a Slytherin meant that he'd once read his way through the "special library" of his house too.

But now it was Hermione … and Hermione … oh heavens, what had he thought by getting himself into this situation? Of course, he'd dreamed of her. Many years he did. It had started in Paris and even with all his willpower he hadn't gotten her out of his head since then. She was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman – and even if she wasn't the most beautiful witch under the stars: He loved to look at her. He found her even breath taking when she marched through the lab in an old robe, a quill in her hair and ink on her fingers. She was Hermione – and this meant that he never compared her with other women. She was something special, a treasure, a dream – and Merlin, why hadn't he just let her be his dream? Why did he have to stand here now like an idiot, unmoving because he didn't trust his trembling fingers and his weak knees?

And why did he just now remember the day in Hogwarts as he'd met Harry idiotic Potter in front of an unused class room, just fumbling with his wand to open the door? Severus remembered only too well the sounds coming through this door – Hermione's voice as she'd screamed in pleasure … and even without this certain memory: Severus hadn't been a spy for nothing. Eavesdropping and collecting information had by this time become second nature to him and so … yes, of course, he'd known about Albus and Rosmerta. Albus hadn't made a secret out of this affair – at least not with Severus. He had sometimes invited Severus for a drink in the "Three Broomsticks" and after a little talk and the one or other fire whiskey he'd simply said "You'll find your way back without me, won't you?" and had disappeared upstairs. Three or four times Severus had been curious enouo mao make a visit to the pub the "day after" – and every time he'd found that Rosmerta looked exceptionally smug and satisfied.

And more: Severus had known one of Rosmerta's predecessors – a witch in Rome, a friend of Madame Flamel who'd once on the terrace just in frof tof the lab where Severus had worked, told – in epic length and graphic details! – About a weekend in Venice with Albus. Only that the lady hadn't seen much of the city because – as she'd giggling said – "one would have to fight for coming out of bed with him. And why should I have fought? Even if Venice will go down in the next few years – sight seeing there can't be better than sex with Albus."

What the heck had he thought he had let himself in for a competition with Albus? And even better: He had to compete against young Albus! Hermione had experience with Albus, 30 years old.

And obviously she'd learnt from him. She was now on his chest, teasing and kissing and licking and – huh, she was good at it! Her mouth on his skin made his knees even weaker and her fingers playing with his nipple – it felt like heaven and sent shivers done his spine and made all blood floating in his groin though he'd already gotten a rock hard erection. He suddenly felt like a 14 year old – Hermione hadn't touched more than his chest, but he knew: If he didn't something, if he didn't start to get her undressed andparepared, he'd explode before she even laid a finger on his cock.

Yet it needed all his will power to move. To raise his hand for stroking through her hair – he'd never name it "bushy" because it felt like silk and it smelled like vanilla and rose – and to bend his head for kissier –er – he had to kick himself out of his dizziness for doing so. But as his lips met hers, as he'd felt her body – she was still fully clothed, but the wet shirt she was wearing stuck to her breasts and he could feel her erected nipples through the fabric – against his, his body reacted at last and started to work on its own accord.

His hands glided down her back, cupping her buttocks and kneading them and pushing her closer to his aching erection, rubbing it against her belly while his mouth plundered hers, his tongue playing with hers. And at the same time he managed to push her to the bed, up the two stairs – and yes, to have her stand on a stair was nice because now he didn't have to bend down so much anymore, but laying her down and undressing her finally would even be pleasanter because he needed to feel her skin and he needed to suck her firm nipples and he needed to feel the heath between her legs and so he gave her a last push and made her tumble on the bed, jumping on top of her, fumbling her shirt out of the belt of her jeans and shoving his hand under it, finally feeling her smooth skin. He didn't think for a moment that he could use his wand for undressing her – his mind was fogged with a need so urgent he hardly could control anymore.

Even against himself he'd rarely admitted it, but he had wanted her. He had dreamed off her – more then once he'd wake up in the middle of the night with a stiff cock because he'd dreamed of her, of her naked body, of her eyes glittering with arousal, of her breasts and her glorious, glorious arse. And more then once he'd pleased himself then, screaming her name during climax.

Now she was there – and more then that: She kissed him back with the same need and only pushed him away for getting her wand out and directing it at him. His clothes disappeared, followed by hers and then she let the wand drop and gripped with both hands at his groin, one closing around his shaft, the other cupping his testicles.

Actually he wasn't surprised at it happened. He'd known that he was already over the point of no return. But nevertheless he felt ashamed and embarrassed as his body took over and he felt the heath of an upcoming climax. He couldn't do anything against it, he couldn't fight it anymore. But it was almost painful and not only because he didn't want it to happen, but because it was in a way intense he'd rarely felt before.

But then – no, he couldn't look in her eyes. He didn't want to see her disappointment. What would she think of him now? He'd performed worse then a 16 year old at his first attempt! And if he'd known where his wand was – he'd probably fled in the moment. But so he could only sink his head, whispering: "I'm sorry."

"Why?" Hermione kissed his shoulder. "There's no reason for being sorry."

He didn't answer. He didn't want her pity, he didn't want her sympathy.

"Severus!" Now she sounded firm. "Look at me, will you?"

He still didn't raise his head, but looked at his spend member, cursing it. He hadn't could have found a worse moment for letting him down.

Another kiss landed on his shoulder and then a hand under his chin, turning it in her direction. "Severus …"

He couldn't avoid looking at her, but what he saw in her eyes was neither pity nor sympathy, but something like amusement and a very tender smile. And despite his misery this smile touched him and he tried to smile back wearily. "I'm really terribly sorry …"

"There's no reason for being sorry," she repeated – and chuckled, a throaty, very sexy sound. "Heavens, I take this as a compliment! If I can drive you this far with by only touching you – that means you really want me, don't you?"

"Of course I want you." Now it suddenly was easy to confess. "I want you as badly as I never wanted a woman before. I wanted you in Paris, I wanted you all these years …" He laid back on the bed, pulling her at his shoulder. "Hermione …"

She snuggled to him, kissing his cheek. "Severus – I love you. I don't know when it started, but now: I love you. And I want to be with you."

He held her close, his mouth in her hair, his fingers playing over her spine. "I never wanted to be with some one else, but I want to be with you," he said quietly. "If you can bear with me …"

"I think I can." She kissed his chin. "I'm use to you, you know? I've beard with you for years and actually – mostly I've enjoyed it."

"You will enjoy it even more." He turned around, taking her with him. "I have to make something up, haven't I?" Stroking down her sides, he let his mouth follow his hand until he reached her breasts.

"You don't have to make something up, Severus. But I'll nevertheless enjoy you – I've finally waited long enough to get you here."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26: An hero's heir

Actually it could have been a great place with the roaring flames in a fireplace so huge three adult men could easily stand in it, flickering torches along the walls and the green-silver carpets and the mahogany closets and desks and book shelves and the green upholstered chairs and sofas. Who ever had decorated the room, hadn't only spend a great amount of moneut out owned a high developed sense of style. Nevertheless the room was far away from being cosy or inviting. Something forbidding seem to hang over it, something which made it impossible to laugh loudly in it and so even the group of young girls who had gathered in the chairs around a table near the entrance didn't chat with giggles and noises like other children t age age, but spoke quietly, their faces serious and their heads bent as if they'd share secrets for no one to hear.

The group directly in front of the fireplace didn't show so much restricting. One of the boys, a tall 16 year old, loitered on the sofa, his black robe crumpled, and his tie half open. His head lay in the lap of a blonde girl who played with a look of possessiveness in his long, gold brown curls. Another boy, around 15, blond, with a swallow face and cold grey eyes, leaned at the mantelpiece, his fingers playing lazily with the moving stone snakes there. Next im iim in a chair sat a long legged 16 year old with thick black hair falling in his dark face. On his robe stuck – just over the green-silver crest with the snake – a button with the letter "P". A heavy book lay in his lap and he was taking notes by reading. But he nevertheless noticed the flickering of the torches as an arch in the wall opened and a bony, raven-haired boy in black robes entered the room.

The group at the mantelpiece fell silent immediately all their eyes directed on the pale little boy who hurried through the room to the archway on the opposite without raising his head.

"Just leave him alone!" The boy with the book in his lap looked up to his friends warningly.

They didn't listen to him. The one at the fireplace sneered maliciously and said loud enough for all inhabitants of the room to hear it: "Look, look – we're once again honoured with the presence of the heroes' heir."

The boy who'd almost arrived at his destination turned around. Directing his azure blue eyes to the fireplace, he said with a firm and clear voice: "I've got as much right to be here as you, Parkinson."

"This was what we've just discussed," said the girl on the sofa. "And you'll like to learn that you've got an advocate for your case in Zabini. He thinks that your Slytherin fathers – who ever it was who really sired you – make up for your mudblood mother."

Now the boy on the sofa raised his head. Sounding bored he added: "Probably she could be made an honorary Slytherin – despite of her mudblood. I mean she obviously was able to fool Slytherins. Or did your nominal father know about your mother fucking Snape, Dumbledore? What do you think?"

In Leontes Dumbledore's pale face no muscle twitched. Only his eyes became small as he slowly said: "I think I should hex you, Lestrange."

The brown haired boy on the sofa starred at him, and then he started to laugh. "Well, well, little boy – tell me the date you'll be ready for it and I'll be there – in 10 or 20 years or whenever you're ready to fight."

"I am ready." Leontes had his wand out already. Raising it over his head with the tip in direction of the group at the fireplace, he yelled: "Expelliarmus – stupefy!" Parkinson's, Zabini's and Lestrange's wands sailed through the Slytherin common room and became caught in Leontes right hand. Only Belladonna Malfoy kept her wand, but only because she'd been slower than the boys and the "stupefy" had got her as she'd just fumbled her wand out of her sleeve.

The common room fell deadly silent now. The first year girls on the table at the entrance had ducked, the third years playing chess in the corner didn't dare to move, but only starred at Leontes who walked now to the fireplace, his back erect, the chin up and a cold fire in his blue eyes. Looking at his four stunned victims, he smiled an icy smile. "I am Albus Dumbledore's son – but pity for you: It was Severus Snape who taught me dung. ng. So don't you ever dare besmirching my mother again!" He directed his wand on Lestrange on the sofa and murmured a spell. Without waiting for the effect he looked at the girl. "And you …" Casting another jinx, he turned to Parkinson who still leaned at the mantelpiece. Leontes seemed to consider how to hex him as a cold voice commanded: "Expelliarmus!" Now it was four wands sailing through the room, getting caught by a bony brunette in dark green robes. She'd come trough a hole in the wall which closed behind her as she stepped down the four steps to the fireplace. With an "enervate" she made the four stunned Slytherins move again and looked at them with an academicals interest. And the sight was worth looking at: Lestrange immediately clutched his hands over his mouth, but couldn't avoid soap bubbles coming out and floating through the room. His girlfriend had both her hands on her face too, but she didn't bubble, but screamed shrilly.

"Silence!" commanded the green robed woman, getting closer to the girl. "Let me look at your face, Miss Malfoy."

Her voice was firm enough to make the girl take her hands down, showing her forehead on which red boils formed the word "Filth".

"Hmm …" said the woman. Directing her wand at the girl she said: "Finite incantatum." Yet the boils didn't vanish and once again the girl started screaming. "You will have to go to the infirmary, Miss Malfoy," said the older witch.

"But I can't go like this through the entire castle!" protested the girl. "Can't you make it go away, Professor Colders?"

"I'm not a mediwitch," the professor only answered and turned to Lestrange who still spit bubbles out. Another "finite incantatum" made him stop it, but he looked very pale and wiped fiercely his mouth. Professor Colders looked at Leontes, her brown eyes as cold as her voice. "And now to you, Mister Dumbledore. Would you care to explain to me why you've jinxed your house mates?"

Leontes Dumbledore didn't answer. He only looked up to the professor, his blue eyes sill blazing, and his mouth a small line.

"They insulted his parents with …" Magnus Zabini, the prefect, tried to say, but got instantly silenced.

"I didn't ask you, Mister Zabini." Looking back at Leontes, Professor Colders said: "Well, Mister Dumbledore – you obviously don't want to tell. And you obviously think that your name and your connection to this school make you staving above all rules. Only I don't think so. And because this was the second time in two weeks you've attacked house mates and because of my detentions obviously making not much of an impression to you, we'll now go see see the headmistress. Perhaps Professor McGonagall is able to show you your place, Mister Dumbledore." 

"Sometimes I really don't understand Minerva," Hermione complained, walking up the steps to Hogwarts big entrance hall. "I' had to cancel a class to come here."

"What luck that I was sitting around entirely bored and just wishing for some entertainment – like an order from Minerva." Severus opened the door and let Hermione step through.

"Really, Severus – why couldn't she use the floo?" Hermione's face became worried. "Or is it something so bad she thinks she must tell us face to face?"

"Obviously it is," Severus said quietly.

"Oh, you're such a comfort!" Hermione ranted and looked down the hall which led to the dungeons. "Actually I'd like to see Leontes first."

"He's in class now," Severus said curtly.

"I hope so. But what if he's sick? Or injured?" Hermione tugged nervously at her cloak. "He's only 11 years old! If he's ill, he will need me."

"And then Minerva would have flooed you," Severus sighed. "I've told you already 147 times since you got the owl."

Hermione, climbing up the stairs, didn't seem to hear him. "You know," she said, "I really don't like he's in Slytherin. I know the Sorting Hat placed him there, but I nevertheless think every other house would have been better for him."

"Especially Gryffindor," Severus snorted. "The little lion walking in the path of the light, correcting at last that his father unfortunately was a Slytherin …"

"I didn't say that!" Hermione defended herself. "But you must admit: The son of a muggle born in Slytherin is wrong!"

"Is it?" Severus raised one of his elegant eyebrows. "Or is the first step to integration? As far as I remember it was your late husband who fought all his life for a united magical world."

Hermione made a face. "Severus," she said then with forced patience. "I'm not talking about politic. I'm talking about an 11 year old boy who's incidentally is my son …"

"… and who isn't a wimp!" Severus said energetic. "And I actually don't think you should treat him like one."

They'd arrived now at the stone gargoyle which still guarded the entrance of the headmistress' office. By seeing it Hermione pulled her cloak closer around her and looked down at her feet.

Severus said the password – with Minerva McGonagall as Headmistress it was of course not the name of a sweet anymore, but a rather severe "Apes debemus imitari*". Severus sneered as he stepped with Hermione onto the spiral staircase. "Knowing our dear Minerva, I doubt she thought about the bees and the flowers by choosing her password."

Hermione didn't comment on that. She still looked at her feet.

Severus sighed and inwardly cursed his former colleague. Hadn't Minerva noticed that Hermione had for 11 years avoided to come back to Hogwarts? And who could blame her? Severus remembered only too well Hermione standing in the entrance hall, kissing Albus before he went out to take up his last fight. And he remembered Hermione walking next to a stretcher and holding Albus' hand as they'd left Hogwarts a week after the final battle. She then never wanted to come back to this place – Severus understood and he'd actually thought Minerva, although a Gryffindor mostly meant a person with the sensitivity of a brick wall, would understand too.

Obviously he'd been wrong. But at least it was good Minerva had ordered him too. He'd have hated to have Hermione going back on her own and he knew: Even if he'd have argued with her all night: Without Minerva asking for him too he'd have never stood a chance to accompany Hermione. But now he was there and while the staircase spiralled up, he was alone with the stubborn Gryffindor witch who drove him crazy once a week and was nevertheless the love of his life.

Laying his hand on her shoulder, he bent down to her. "I'm here with you, my heart," he whispered. "And whatever it is – we'll face it together."

His reward was a small smile and her hand on his cheek. "I love you, Severus Snape."

"I know, Hermione." He never answered with "I love you too", but he was sure she knew that he did. Now they had arrived and Severus knocked on the old oak door.

A familiar, firm voice called "Come in!" and Severus opened the door, his free hand at Hermione's back, supporting her.

The office had changed. Instead of the whirling and spinning objects Albus had kept around him, the tables along the bookshelves were empty now. Everything looked neat and well organized, even the old, battered Sorting Hat, sitting on a shelf, looked as if it had got a good, thorough cleaning. Yet what made the changes in the room clearest for Severus was the smell of it. As a potion master his nose was trained to analyze fragrances and he remembered the smell of lemon drops, herb lavender and forest he'd always connected with this room. it wit was sandalwood and bergamot – he remembered Minerva having a liking for Earl Grey tea.

Looking around Severus registered the portraits of the former headmasters had changed places too. Phineas Nigellus Black, who had always hung next to the door, was not in sight anymore – probably Minerva had gotten him a place on the gallery over the office. Where he had been was now Armando Dippeportportrait, in former times placed over the mantle of the fireplace. There was now an empty portrait, only showing a high backed green chair in front of a wall with a blue and golden crest. A small sign under the painting said who actually should be to be seen in it: "A. P. W. B. Dumbledore, 1843-2006".

Severus wasn't sure what he felt about the empty painting. On one hand he often longed to hear Albus always a bit husky voice again. On the other hand he was almost glad he wasn't there. He really didn't know how Hermione would have reacted to him.

Minerva had obviously noticed Severus looking at the portrait. With a small smile she said: "He never was one for sitting around quietly all day. But when he's needed, he's always there." She sounded as if she'd expect the portrait's inhabitto sto show up that moment, but nothing happened – except that Hermione cleared her throat and said, sounding a bit defiant: "You've wanted to see us, Professor McGonagall."

The usage of the formal title made it clear that she didn't count orders like the one she'd got with Minerva's owl as nice invitations among friends.

And obviously it hadn't been meant as such because Minerva, looking as stern as always in her green robe and with the now white hair in a tight bun, didn't rise to greet them. Instead she pointed to the two high backed, wooden chairs in front of her desk. "Please sit down, Hermione, Severus."

Silently Hermione and Severus obeyed and Severus suddenly felt like a 14 year old who'd been ordered to the Headmaster for being out after curfew. He didn't like this feeling much and so he switched his Slytherin sneer on and said very cool: "And a good day to you too, Minerva."

"I'm afraid this is not a good day," Minerva answered promptly and very tight lipped. "We have difficulties with your son …"

"We?" Severus raised an eye brow. "Was that a pluralis majestatis as in 'we, Minerva McGonagall, almighty headmistress' or a 'we' as in 'I and the members of my staff"?"

Minerva shot a dagger at him out of her green eyes. "It was a 'we' as in 'the staff, his house mates and I', dear Severus."

"Hogwarts entire staff? I've lost track a bit, but isn't they around 30 people now? And you're all in trouble with Leontes?" Severus sounded very ironic. "Not bad for an 11 year old, I think. Even his father needed 150 years of experience and a job as headmaster to become a problem for the entire staff and the Slytherins. It seems Leontes is his true heir."

It was as if the last 11 years hadn't happened. Minerva and Severus starred at each other – she with blazing eyes, he out of almost amused onyx eyes.

Only in former times it had been always Albus who had stepped between them. Now it was Hermione. "What happened, Minerva?" she demanded to know.

Minerva, sat behind her desk with a very straight back, looked at Hermione. "Your son hexed a few of his housemates – twice in only two weeks."

Hermione was immediately on her feet. Panting and bracing her hands on Minerva's desk she cried: "What did they do to him?"

"This I asked him too," Minerva said curtly. "He refused to answer. Yet I have my suspicions and that's the reason why I asked both of you to come here." Overlooking Severus' once again rd eyd eye brow she addressed the young woman in front of her: "Hermione, you know you were always something like my favourite pupil. Over the last years I thought we even became something likeendsends. And for Severus …," now she looked at him and even managed a small smile, "… you know, that despite our disagreements I've always cared for you. I know you're a brave and honourable man and I even know that you care deeply for Leontes Beatus. And this is why I have to ask you: Why do you bring the boy into such a situation?"

"We?" Hermione fell back on her chair. "What do you mean with that?"

"What I've said," Minerva answered firmly. "But I'm of course willing to explain it in more details." She laid the tips of her long fingers together and looking at them, she proceeded. "I must say I was myself sused sed and not too pleased as the Sorting Hat placed Leontes Beatus in Slytherin. I was convinced that as the son of a muggleborn witch he would become a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw and I was for the first time since I'm headmistress was tempted to act against the Sorting hat."

"I would have liked that," said Hermione, sounding pretty sulky.

"Aldidndidn't." Minerva looked up to the still empty portrait. "He said the damage of overruling the Sorting hat would not only destroy everything we've achieved in Slytherin house over the last years since the war, but would make life even more difficult for the boy too. The burden he has already to bear in being the son of a legend is hard enough and makes him outstanding enough. If he would have to bear the stigma of being the headmistress' special case too it wouldn't become easier for him. Besides: How could he ever feel at home in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor with knowing that he actually belongs in Slytherin?"

"Just for once I agree with you," Severus said and sneered at the furious glance Hermione sent to him.

"I'll make a notice in Hogwarts a history," Minerva said dryly. "Coming back to our subject: With Leontes Beatus in Slytherin the upcoming trouble was easy to foresee. Slytherin as the fortress of pureblood means that Slytherin is also the house with the most conservative opinions. So it was – at least to me – clear that your …" She seemed to search for a word and decided then for "… rather unconventional living arrangement wouldn't sit tell ell with Leontes Beatus' housemates and with most of their parents. They remember the old rumours about the ménage a troi in Dumbledore Hall before the boy's birth …"

"Menage a troi?" Hermione shouted. "Minerva, I'd have never thought that you – you who were so close …"

Minerva looked sternly at her. "Hermione, I didn't say I believe in the rumours. Besides: I knew Albus even longer than, He, Hermione. I see the alikeness between him and Leontes Beatus."

"And you know that I can't sire a child," Severus added. Smiling coldly he added: "Perhaps I should offer the 'Daily Prophet' a semen sample. If I gave it under the eyes of the editor-in-chief they would perhaps come to believe that I'm not Leontes' father."

"I don't think so, Severus," Minerva answered calmly. "They would probably say you lost your fertility after fathering Leontes Beatus."

"I can't believe it!" Hermione rose up and began to pace through the room. "What do I have to do to convince people that I was a faithful wife?"

"I think it would help if you'd become an honourable one again," Minerva answered dryly. And stopping Hermione who'd just wanted to say something with raising her hand, she added: "Like it or not, Hermione: The magical world is very old-fashioned. To have for years an affair with a man without marrying him isn't received to well by old pureblood families. They wonder – and they talk. It's a lot of rubbish they talk – like you wouldn't want to marry Severus because you'd lose Leontes Beatus and your money then."

"What?" Hermione breathed hard. "That's crap! Why should I?"

"Bse sse some people," sounded suddenly a husky voice through the room, "obviously think I'd have been an idiot."

"Albus!" Hermione whirled around, looking at the portrait where Albus just sat down on his chair, smiling at her.

"You look lovely," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "I always found that your temper becomes you. It makes your eyes sparkle …"

"Albus!" Hermione was between tears and laughter. She stepped closer to the portrait and whispered: "How do you like your son?"

"He's a wonderful boy, Hermione and I'm terribly proud of him," he answered seriously.

"Do you speak with him sometimes?" Hermione seemed to have forgotten Minerva and Severus.

Albus shook his head. "No, Hermione, I don't. I sometimes watch him out of other paintings, but we never speak."

"But why, Albus?" Hermione cried. "He'd love it! He asked so often about you and as he was smaller, Severus and I had to tell him all about you."

t not now he doesn't ask anymore, Hermione does he?" Albus looked seriously at his widow and then at Severus who had rose too. "You know why, Severus, do you?"

"I'm not sure, Albus," Severus answered and knew the portrait would understand the meaning behind. "I never …," he started.

Suddenly Albus' eyes twinkled again. "Never is such a big word, Severus. I remember you told me once that you would never want to see a member of the golden trio after they'd have finished school. Now you seem to see a great deal he ehe entire trio, don't you?"

He still managed to make Severus smile. "Wasn't it you who always said 'What can't be cured, must be endured'?"

"Yes – though I must say that enduring Hermione mostly is a lovely task. And …" Albus became serious again, "Leontes looks to me like a boy who isn't to endure, but to enjoy."

In front of Albus Severus had never been able to hide his feelings. So he nodded and said quietly: "I never thought it possible, but – never is such a big word. I love your son, Albus."

"And you love Hermione," Albus stated.

"Yes, I do." Severus looked him in the eyes.

"Little Lioness?" Albus smiled at Hermione. "Do you love Severus?"

Hermione swallowed. "Yes," she answered then and gripping Severus' hand, she looked up at Albus again. "You know, Albus, I never stopped loving you and I never will. But I love Severus too."

"So why don't you marry? So far as I know, the story about my last will forbidding it is utter rubbish. I think it's time you marry and it's time to give our son a normal, complete family. And I'd actually like if you'd adopt Leontes, Severus."

"But …" Hermione started.

"That's not a good idea," Severus said at the same moment. "It would look like a confession. Besides: He's the last Dumbledore. Your name would die out."

"He could have a double name – he wouldn't be the first one." Albus looked over the rim of his half-moon spectacles as he'd done in life. "Besides: What's a name? What are stupid rumours against a boy's heart's desire? Leontes wants to have a family and a real father – not a death legend he can't touch. He wants a father who's proud of him and stands up to him, telling the world 'That's my beloved son'. And let's be honest, Severus: He's more yours than my son. It is you who sits at his bedside when he's sick. It was you who made his toy broomstick fly, it was you who comforted him when he had a nightmare and it's you he comes to when he's in trouble. I sired him – but you became his father. I'm death – you live. And he needs a living father."

Hermione looked as if she'd like to stamp her foot. "I refuse!" she said firmly. "I won't let my life and my decisions become dictated by biased, old-fashioned, silly people! If I ever marry Severus, then I'll marry him becau lov love him and not because some idiots in Slytherin have a problem with us living out of wedlock." Sitting down again, she added: "And with all due respect, Albus: I was once forced to marry against my will. I won't have it a second time."

"Was it so bad, Hermione?" Albus asked with a tender smile.

"You know it was not!" Looking up at him again, her voice became soft. "Just the contrary. You made me very happy and you gave me Leontes. But that …" and now her voice became firm again, "doesn't change the fact that the principle is wrong."

Severus sighed and so did Albus. Looking at each other Severus knew what the portrait thought – it was the same line he'd just swallowed.

It was Minerva who spoke it out loudly: "How Gryffindor of you, Hermione."

Albus and Severus .

Minerva didn't look at them, but at Hermione. "I just find myself in agreement with your Slytherins, my dear. I think a principle isn't worth a child's happiness."

"You think I should?" Hermione looked with big eyes at Minerva.

"It's your decision, Hermione," the old headmistress said.

"And that will do the trick," Albus sounded amused. "If you decide to make it your decision it's not against your Gryffindor's principles anymore."

"Oh, Albus – that's Slytherin logic!" Hermione sighed.

Albus laughed. "Considered that the men in your life are all Slytherins, I think you're use to Slytherin thinking by now."

"Hmm …" Hermione still didn't look very convinced. Studying the tip of her black boots again, she said with a small voice: "There's one thing more …"

"Yes, Hermione?" Severus sat down next to her.

She didn't look at him, but still at her shoes. "If I'm to become married again – I would like to get at least one proper proposal in my life!"

"I remember I proposed to you," Albus reminded her.

"Oh yes!" Hermione still sounded sulky. "And wasn't it romantic? You looked at me as if you'd rather send me back to my kinder garden! And Severus …" she looked at her smiling companion, "… actually the m-word is the best way to make him run. Start talking about marriage – the safest way to get rid off one Severus Snape. So it's told at the university."

"I think with Severus it depends on who talks about marriage." Minerva smiled.

Severus grinned. "Right you are, dearest Minerva. If you would ever have asked me …"

"Oh sweet Merlin! I'd rather have kissed Albus!" Minerva cried.

"How flattering!" Albus commented. "You know, Severus, with a female Gryffindor you can be sure you'll always get paid the nicest compliments."

"Don't be silly, Albus!" Minerva promptly rebuked him. "You know how I meant it. I never cared about men with so much hair." Smiling at him and looking suddenly very young, she added mischievously: "If you'd have shaved and got yourself a proper haircut …"

Albus plaited his long beard and grinned at Severus who wore his now pretty long hair in a ponytail and had grew at least a short and already pretty grey beard too. "I know a hair cutting spell …" he offered.

"Thank you very much." Hermione tugged lightly on Severus' ponytail. "I just like his hair as it is!" Looking back at Minerva she said: "Considered Severus and I would marry and Severus would adopt Leontes – do you think it would help him to adapt in Slytherin?"

"Yes," Minerva out this I'm convinced. It would need a while until all rumours would get down and we'd surely had to use all our influence – on Leontes and his housemates – to avoid other scenes like the one two days ago, but I'm firmly convinced he'd feel better and less vulnerable then."

"Hmm …" Hermione chewed for a moment on her bottom lip. Then she asked: "Minerva – is Augustus at home?"

Minerva looked at the watch on her desk. "At the moment he's teaching. We have a new class for three years – social science for wizards. But Augustus will be ready with his sixth years in the next ten minutes."

"Well," Hermione said, "then I'll think we're in for a binding. If we have to do it, we can just get over with. Or what do you think, Severus?"

"Oh?" Severus was amused. He loved Hermione's energy and quickness. Nevertheless he couldn't resist teasing her. "I have a say in the matter?"

"Of course you have." Hermione took his hand. "You know …" she became silent and looked in his eyes.

"I love you too, Hermione," he said quietly. "But if I'm to marry I want to do it properly. I mean at least the proposing part." He rose up and pulled the platinum ring with the snake from his finger. Going down on one knee, he took Hermione's right hand where she still wore the ring Albus had given her. Severus pulled his wand out of his sleeve and directing it at the ring in his hand murmured an incantation. Then he took Hermione's hand and looked in her eyes. "Hermione Granger-Dumbledore, you know I love you. Will you do me the honour to become my wife?"

Hermione had tears in her eyes. She looked for a second to the portrait of Albus, saw his smile, and sniffled, swallowed and said then, looking into Severus' eyes: "Yes, Severus, I will."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Minerva jumped on her feet. "I'm so happy, children! I will immediately go and fetch Augs. As. And Leontes Beatus of course. And Harry. You know, Harry is here, Hermione? He just agreed a few days before to take over our infirmary – Poppy wants to retire soon. And what do you think about Dee Sprout as your second witness? You always liked her, Severus, didn't you?" Without waiting for an answer, she swept out of the door.

Severus, who'd actually intended to kiss Hermione, fell down on his bottom. Looking up to the still smiling portrait he said: "You're so lucky that you're already death, Albus! If you were alive, I'd hex your balls off!"

"What have I done?" Albus looked immensely amused.

"You made me marry a Gryffindor – with Harry Potter as my witness!" Severus hissed, pronouncing every word. "And therefore you would deserve becoming hexed back to the middle age – without your balls!"

"What angry thoughts for a man who's to marry in a few minutes!" Albus grinned. "If I were in your shoes, boy, I'd rather use the short time of engagement to kiss the bride. It's your last chance for passionate out of-wedlock kisses, Severus."

"Albus?" Severus rose up. "Could you do me a favour?"

"With pleasure, child. What can I do for you?" Albus asked.

"Just go visit the fat lady. Or go kissing Lady Morgaine or who ever you want – but don't hang around here! Even in being dead you're nerve shattering!"

The end


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Epilogue

"Grandy?" The auburn haired girl who'd just jumped in to the four poster bed, closing the hangings and casting a silencing charm, fumbled on the golden chain around her neck. Pulling the medallion hanging it out, she opened it and whispered again: "Grandy?"

Suddenly a painting appeared on the creamy porcelain the girl was looking at. An ancient wizard with a withered face, surrounded by a silver mane and a long beard, smiled at her. His sky blue eyes were pretty much like those of the girl and they twinkled cheerfully. "Here I am, Miss Impatience. And? Did you catch him?"

"Yes!" The girl shrieked with delight. "Yes, yes, yes - I did it!" she repeated, fidgeting in joy. Turning on her back, she held the medallion with one hand over her, while she with the other rummaged in the inner pocket of her black school robe.

"He!" the man in the painting protested. "Don't turn me so quick! I'm an old man and I don't like becoming dizzy!"

The girl hand found what she'd searched for. Popping a lemon drop into her mouth, she smiled at the painting. "Sorry, Grandfather. But I'm just so happy! He agreed to a date! Next week we'll meet in London."

"Oh?" The old wizard raised a bushy eyebrow. "So I take it, that the young man just confessed his undying love to you?"

"Of course he didn't!" The girl shook her head. "Corin is a Gryffindor, Grandy. And he's a teacher at this school and you know: Gran would have his head if one of her staff would confess undying love to a student."

"Perdita Darling, you hardly count as a student anymore," her grandfather answered. "You finished your NEWTs and your graduation is tomorrow …"

"This I told Corin too - it was my only chance to convince him that he'd survive dating me. Admittedly he made me promise that I wouldn't tell anyone before the graduation."

"Ah?" The painting grinned. "Am I no one?"

The girl giggled. "I promised him I wouldn't tell a living soul. This doesn't include you."

"How Slytherin of you, Darling!" The man in the painting looked very amused.

"You're one to talk!" She giggled again. "Aunt Minerva always says …" She imitated the voice of the stern former Hogwarts headmistress: "Making a point with Albus Dumbledore was like nailing a pudding on a wall! You were the very model of a Slytherin, grandfather!"

Albus chuckled. "Actually I wasn't. At my time a lot of people thought I was a Gryffindor."

Perdita laughed and bite on her lemon drop. Swallowing the pieces, she tried her sweetest smile on her grandfather: "Granny …"

"Hmm?" he said, looking sceptically. "What do you want?"

"Me?" Perdita made puppy eyes. "You didn't hear by any chance something about my grades? You know, Opa promised to buy me a new robe if I'd manage an 'O' in potions. And I've seen a great one - blue with silver stars and a slit in the skirt from here to nowhere. And I do have nice legs, so … I mean … if I'd knew I've got an 'O' I could order the robe and I could wear it on my date with Corin and probably he'd learn then that I'm not a little girl anymore."

"Perdita, I'm afraid you're a clothe horse!" Albus twinkled.

"Look who's speaking!" Perdita laughed. "Father says he'd never have to buy a dress robe - neither for him nor for Ali - because he inherited so much from you it will even be enough for his grandsons. But unfortunately Granny isn't interested much in robes and Mummy - as adorable as she is - has got a taste as boring as Opa's and so I can't hope to inherit something stylish - which means: I really, really need the new robe." Once again she tried her sweetest smile. "I'm sure Gran knows already about my grades. She's signing graduating papers today. And if she knows, then you know too. She always tells you everything."

Albus shook his head. "No, Darling. I won't tell."

Perdita cocked her head. "Pretty please!" Turning around once again - this time handling the medallion with care, laying it down on her pillow - she braced her head in her hands and looked down at her grandfather. "You'd love these robes …"

Albus laughed. "No. Its school business and we don't talk about school business. You know the rules."

"But you said yourself; I'm hardly a student anymore." Now Perdita sounded a bit sulky.

"No!" Albus repeated, but smiled to soften the word. "Besides: I don't think you need new robes for your date. Even if you'd dress yourself in a sack cloth, you'd look ravishing."

"Hmm." The girl tapped against her nose. "My nose is too big. And I find it quite unfair: Albus inherited mother's nose - and you must admit: The Potter noses are prettier than ours. Dumbledore noses are huge!"

"I always liked mine," Albus saidesidesides: My dear grandson didn't inherit the Potter features. It comes from his grandmother Ginny with his freckles and the pretty nose - that's Weasley all over."

Perdita giggled. "By talking about my stupid little brother: Did Granny tell you that he got detention for an entire week? He's to clean bed panes in the infirmary - without any magic. Gran caught him …"

"… snogging a girl in the Astronomy Tower," Albus finished the line. Grinning he proceeded: "She told me. And she was livid …"

"And how! I thought she'd dismember him! But she wasn't livid because he was stupid enough to let her catch him out after curfew the second time in one week, but because it was another girl than the first time. And she had a row with Opa because he tried to defend Ali. He said something about boys are supposed to be boys and that's what boys do and she told him, that father never was into womanizing …"

"Yes …" Albus sighed. "Leontes takes after his mother. He was always a bit too serious. And so was your grandmother as a girl."

"Father still is." Perdita sighed too. "Always working, always in his study. He's almost as bad as Gran."

"She has a school to run, your grandmother," Albus reminded her. "And I think she does great."

"Of course she does great." Perdita smiled proudly at him. "She always says she learned from the best." Suddenly she became serious. "Grandy - I believe, Corin is a bit intimidated by our family. I told him that I'm in love with him - and he started to tell me why a relationship between the both of us would be impossible. And one of the reasons was that I'm - I quote him - "the granddaughter of the greatest wizard of our time and the step granddaughter of the three time Paracelsus Award winner and the daughter of a Merlin award winner and they were all Slytherin'. What people would say if I'd date a muggleborn?"

Albus turned his eyes. "Oh sweet Merlin! I hoped your generation would be above this nonsense. Didn't you tell him your grandmother is muggleborn too? It didn't prevent me from falling in love with her and it didn't prevent her from becoming Hogwarts headmistress."

"I told him so." Perdita sighed. "But then he said I probably only have a schoolgirl's crush on him and at my age one shouldn't take such emotions too seriously. He said I'd be too young and he'd be too old for me. You know, he's 38 years old. But I never liked boys! Look at that idiotic brother of mine! He's always only talking quidditch and his only interest except quidditch are girls and his hairdo. And his friends are even bigger idiots and the boys in Slytherin - I'd rather go in a nunnery than dating one of them! They're able to bore the hell out of a girl with their boasting about quidditch and quidditch and quidditch and how great they are at quidditch and how they saved the house cup - even if they're not on the team, they maintain they saved the house cup with giving the players the advice which made them win and if you manage to make them stop talking quidditch, then they start on wizard's sex and how great they are at doing it. And how great …." She turned her eyes. "Can you imagine? Just the other evening Nott said in the common room that his dangler would be so big that three owls could seat on it!"

"Of course!" Albus laughed. "One on the shoulders of the other."

"Grandy!" Perdita cringed. "I really don't like to think about Nott's equipment! Even the idea of it makes me sick!"

"Poor Darling! Boys really seem to be a pest nowadays."

"Yes! And that's why I don't want a boy, but a man. And Corin is quite brilliant, you know? I mean, as charms master he's great. But with me …" She sighed again. "Actually he behaved like an idiot. He stammered and he blushed and he sweated and …"

"You liked him nevertheless?" Albus smiled.

"Of course I do. But why must men behave so idiotically?" Perdita asked.

Albus chuckled. "That's what love makes out of us, sweet child."

"Really?" Perdita looked sceptical. "I can't imagine you or Opa ever behaved this foolish. It's probably a Gryffindor speciality …"

Albus shook his head. "No, I don't think so - and I'm sure your Gran does neither. She knows about two Slytherins acting foolish. I made an utter idiot out of myself when I fell in love with her. And for your Opa - Severus needed years until he found the courage to be with your grandmother. Love makes fools out of Slytherin and Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and I'm sure - one day even your clever, eloquent Ravenclaw brother will fall for a girl and then behave like a stammering git. As for Professor Connolly and his doubts that your feelings for him aren't serious: Your Gran was only a few months older then you when she fell in love with me …"

Perdita chewed once again on her bottom lip, her forehead wrinkling in deep thinking. "You know, Grandy," she started anew; "some people say Gran only married you because she was forced by a cruel and idiotic law."

"That's true," Albus said. "I wouldn't have married her without this law either. But then we fell in love …"

"Yes …" Perdita breathed deeply. "But some people also say Gran saw you only as a kind of father or grandfather figure and … "She blushed a bit. "I heard Aunt Minerva said once she'd be glad that I look so alike to you because it would prove at last that father is really your son and not Opa's and … I mean, you know how mean people can be and you were really a bit old as you married Gran …"

Albus laughed. "Obviously I wasn't too old."

"I know." Perdita smiled for a moment at him, but then her pretty face became serious and even a bit awkward. "Sometimes I think Gran still loves you … but …. She loves Opa too, doesn't she? I mean …," she blushed. "They're pretty old now, but Ali …" she searched for words. "As we were in the hall at Christmas, he once walked into Opa's lab without knocking … and there …. I mean …. You know, what I mean, do you?"

"I think I have a good guess." Albus smiled. "Your Granny and Severus love each other. And they're still attracted to each other - as it should be."

"But how can she love Opa and you?" Perdita asked.

"Oh, that's quite simple." Albus smiled. "Love, my darling child, has many faces and meanings. You love your parents and your grandparents and your brother and your friends and Professor Connolly …"

"Yes, but …" Perdita chewed on her bottom lip once again. "I only want to sleep with Corin," she said then firmly.

"Your Gran only wants Severus," Albus said no less firmly. "I'm death - and she knows that. Her feelings for me have changed. I'm a memory and what's there from me she loves as a friend. Love is a funny thing, my dear. It's the greatest magic and it holds more power than everything else. But it's not something you get once and you keep then in the shape and form you've got it. It grows, it changes and it can die if you're not careful with it. It defines us - the way we love, our ability to love and to give our heart out to other people."

For a moment grandfather and granddaughter fell silent, smiling tenderly at each other. Then the girl touched the painting with one finger, stroking it gently. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," she said with beaming eyes, "You know that I'm very proud to be your granddaughter?"

"Perdita Hermione Dumbledore …" The portrait smiled back at her. "I'm proud to be your grandfather. And now … I think now you should run up to the owlery to order those robes. I'm sure your Opa will pay for it - and your young man will confess his undying love for you. I'm sure you'll teach him as your grandmother once taught Severus and me."


End file.
